A Fable of Heroes From Ages Old and New: Tale 1
by Zarkovagis9
Summary: After Lucien takes Sparrow and Rose under his wing, Theresa must bring back the mighty Alexander, the Hero of Oakvale, back from the dead to aid her. Together, they must find a way to destroy the Spire before Lucien uses it for his own ambitions.
1. Prologue: The New Family

Disclaimer: I do not own the Fable universe or Lionhead studios.

A Fable of Heroes From Ages Old and New

_Would you believe in a night like this?  
A night like this, when visions come true.  
Would you believe in a tale like this?  
A lay of bliss? We're praising the old lore.  
Come to the blazing fire and see me in the shadows…_

_Songs I will sing of runes and rings,  
Just hand me my lute and this night turns into myth.  
Nothing seems real you soon will feel,  
The World we live in is another bard's dream in the shadows…_

_Do you believe there is sense in it?  
Is it truth or myth? They're one in my rhymes.  
Nobody knows the meaning behind Aurora's mind,  
Well nobody else but the Archons can,  
They see through the blazing fires of time and  
All things will proceed as the children of the hallowed,  
Will speak to you now as you see me in the shadows…  
_

_Songs I will sing of heroes and kings,  
The carrion bird and the realm of the slain,  
Nothing seems real you soon will feel,  
The World we live in is another bard's dream in the shadows…_

_Tale the First_

_Of the Tainting of the Hero of Bowerstone, the Return of the Hero of Oakvale, and the Adventures of his Companion, the Bard Roland_

† _Prologue ≈ The New Family †_

Rose and her little sister walked down the open hallway, eyes wide and mouth open, shock riddled all over their faces. The hall was bright with the light of the torches and the gleam of the armor lining the walls. To them, this was a true paradise worthy of kings and queens. It was as if it was straight from a wondrous storybook. Castle Fairfax was truly everything they could wish for and more. They only hoped that Lord Lucien was as wonderful as they sometimes imagined. Despite what happened to his wife and daughter.

As they walked down the hall, Lord Lucien's butler, who walked proudly down the hallway, head held high and hands behind his back led them.

"I am truly sorry," Jeeves the butler said. "But I am afraid that I did not have the opportunity to learn your names, madam."

Rose giggled. She was not used to being addressed in such a manner. She could get used to it! Her younger sister was busy looking at the wonderful artifacts around her to notice what Rose and the butler were talking about. Gawking at the armor, she stopped to admire their majesty. She didn't notice Rose and Jeeves walking away.

"My name is Rose, sir," she said shyly, curtsying slightly. "And this is-" She quickly looked around, and saw her younger sister several yards away. Embarrassment flooding her face, she snapped quickly. "Sparrow! Get over here now! We are guests here!"

Sparrow quickly jumped up and nearly ran down the hall. As she did, a man with dark skin walked calmly out from his office, carrying large textbooks and rolled up manuscripts. Sparrow skidded to a halt and stared up at the man. She had never seen someone with…quite his complexion. Seemingly just as surprised as she was, the man looked down at the girl. Abashed, she curtseyed as best she could.

"Sorry, sir," her small voice came out. "Excuse me." She quickly ran past him and towards her sister, taking cover from the embarrassment that followed.

"Ah, Master Garth!" Jeeves called. "Will you be needing anything for dinner?" Garth looked at the two girls and the butler, but said nothing. Instead, he sniffed and walked away without looking back. Jeeves pulled at his collar.

"A…man of few words," he told the two girls. Glancing down, he noticed something…peculiar. Despite how Rose had scolded her younger sister ('Sparrow' she called her) only a second before, once she saw that she was frightened by Garth, Rose instantly shielded her. Clearing his throat, he spoke. "Shall we continue?" He kept on walking, sure that they were still following him.

"So, you were telling me your names?" Jeeves asked again.

"Oh! Well, I'm Rose and this is my younger sister, Sparrow, sir," Rose told him. Sparrow hid behind her sister.

"Sparrow?" Jeeves cocked an eyebrow as Rose blushed.

"Yes, sir," Rose nodded. "You see, our parents died when Sparrow was born. That was 6 years ago and I was only 10 at the time. But she didn't have a name so I decided to call her the first thing I could see when we went outside!"

"A sparrow?" Jeeves asked, intrigued.

"Yes, sir!" Rose said excitedly. "She seemed to love it tremendously, sir!" Sparrow hid her face behind her sister, embarrassed. "Don't be shy, little Sparrow, it's alright!"

Jeeves chuckled to himself. However sad their story was, he could not help but find little Sparrow amusing. As with all children, they were all filled with bliss and yet, were sometimes smarter than most adults. She reminded him of Lady Amelia. The smile faded from his face.

In time, they reached Lord Lucien's study. Standing in front of the door, Jeeves turned to face the guests.

"Now," Jeeves' voice took on a regal tone, filled with formality. "When you enter Lord Lucien's study, speak only when spoken to, and address him as 'my lord,' do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," they both said together.

"And do _not_ mention Lady Fairfax or Amelia," Jeeves warned them.

"Yes, sir," they both said in unison. They both knew it was best not to mention Lord Lucien's dead wife and daughter.

Nodding at this, Jeeves opened the door, entered and bowed deeply.

"My lord," Jeeves announced. "Miss Rose and Miss Sparrow have arrived per your request."

"Send them in," came a hollow voice from within. "Close the door on your way out, will you, Jeeves?" Pursing his lips, he stepped aside and motioned the two sisters to walk in. As they did, Jeeves walked out and closed both doors, leaving the two sisters at the mercy of Lord Lucien.

The study was rather clean, but filled with books and desks covered in papers. The only light came from the window and the light from the flickering candle. But the most amazing thing in the study was a large circular disk lay on the ground. Larger than their own shack in Old Town, a very strange symbol was engraved on it. It looked like the head of two ravens stacked on top of each other. One raven's beak was pointed in one direction and the other raven's beak was pointed in the other direction, but their 'eyes' were gleaming rubies that stared in the same direction. There were two places where they connected: their necks and the back of their heads, which snaked around behind the neck of the ravens.

Lord Lucien Fairfax heard the two walk in respectfully, but didn't look up to see them immediately. He was engrossed with his work. Soon enough, though, he pried himself from his research.

"Children!" he announced and looked up as he walked. As he did, he nearly tripped. He saw their faces. _So much like my darling daughter_, he thought to himself. _She probably would have been a little older than her._ A wave of sadness nearly took him off his feet, and he heard the distant cries of…madness, he thought. Composing himself, he went on. He had to.

"It has come to my attention that you have in your possession some sort of…_magic_ box. May I see it?" Lucien asked politely. Rose shifted slightly.

"It vanished, milord!" she said. "We wound it up and then we made a wish and then it started to glow. And then it disappeared!" Sparrow nodded as she spoke. Every word was true. They had purchased the music box from the merchant that afternoon, spending five gold that they could have used for food. _That arse of a merchant swindled us!_ Sparrow thought viciously to herself.

"After you used it?" Lucien asked, looking off in another direction, mind racing.

"Yes, milord!" Rose said, hands close to her chest. "The merchant said it was magic! That if we made a wish, it would be granted."

_Magic, my arse, it was!_ Sparrow thought angrily. _I ought to kick that fat bastard's lying cobblers! Made in the Old Kingdom? Bollocks!_ But she knew the real reason why she was upset. It was because the box disappeared after they made their wish, but didn't take them with it. Sparrow then realized that the conversation was still continuing.

"The box is of no concern to me," Lucien replied. "What's remarkable…is that _you two_ were able to use it!" After a pause, he asked, "What was your wish?"

Rose held her hands behind her and drew a line with her feet, biting her lip and reddening. Sparrow rolled her eyes. Her sister could act like such a ninny sometimes!

"Well, speak up!" Lucien inquired. "What did you wish for?" Rose didn't answer at first, merely turned her head away in embarrassment.

"To live in a castle," Sparrow spoke up meekly. "Like this one…milord."

Lucien smiled warmly, the first one in a long time.

"Well," Lucien chuckled. "Perhaps that could be arranged…" His voice trailed off, leaving Rose and Sparrow to wonder. Could they live here? In this magnificent castle? Before they could dwell on it, Lucien continued. "I'm working to rebuild…well, I'm working on something wonderful, for which I need individuals with particular talents."

Lucien tapped his chin with his finger, thinking to himself.

"Let us find out if you possess them, ," Lucien finally whispered. "Would you kindly stand in the circle?" He gestured towards the disk with the raven symbol on it. Rose looked at it for a moment, as did Sparrow.

"I promise it won't hurt you," Lucien said, noting their hesitation. Slowly, Rose began walking towards the seal. Sparrow however, didn't move. Rose looked towards her.

"It's alright, little Sparrow," Rose told her, smiling. "Don't be afraid!" Sparrow hesitantly looked at her, then nodded. Walking forward, the young six year old girl took Rose's hand and together they stepped onto the seal.

At first, nothing happened. Lucien stared in anticipation.

_They have to be the ones,_ Lucien thought. _They could use an artifact from the Old Kingdom. They have to be!_ Nevertheless, nothing happened for a while.

And then the seal began to glow softly. A pale blue light rose from the seal, like blue snow rising from the ground. Rose and Sparrow stared in awe at the sight unfolding before them.

"It's warm!" Rose exclaimed. Sparrow giggled. Lucien watched in awe, a small smile forming on his lips.

"I knew it," he whispered. "You really are…_heroes_!"

"Heroes?" Rose asked. "Like in the stories!"

"Sort of," Lucien replied. He walked forward slowly, feeling the warmth of the light filling him. He slowly reached out towards it and-

Pain shot through his arm and he recoiled from the light. The light then turned from it's pale blue to a deep red and the rising snowflakes sped up, as if excited from something. Rose and Sparrow looked on in wonder and confusion.

"What are you?!" Lucien hissed, holding his arm. He quickly ran towards his desk and immediately poured over his notes and research material. Looking at one page and then the next, he searched eagerly for the answer. Somewhere…it was in these notes _somewhere_.

"My lord, what happened?" Rose asked tentatively.

"Be quiet!" Lucien snapped. Looking over his notes, his thoughts raced: _What happened? I was sure that one of them was one of the heroes…but wait a minute…there is mention of a fourth…so_ you are not one of the three…no, one of you is the fourth." His thoughts slowly found its way to words that left his mouth with almost no cohesion. Rose and Sparrow looked at each other, confusion on their faces.

_The fourth hero will have the power to defeat me,_ Lucien nearly mumbled. _Having the combined powers of all the other heroes and heart that will naturally force this hero to want to destroy the Spire. No…I won't let them._

Lucien reached for his flintlock pistol, turning towards the girls, mad gleam in his eyes and-

The two girls stared back expectantly, full of worry and confusion.

Lucien's hand began to quiver as it tried to reach the pistol.

_Amelia…_

He could see her, staring back at him through both of their eyes.

The two girls stepped from the seal and the light faded away.

_Amelia_…

His hand slowly and almost unwillingly released the weapon.

Rubbing his temples, sweat nearly pouring from his face, his thoughts were for once silent. Now, he merely spoke to them.

"I apologize," he whispered. "I…was rude. I am truly sorry." Rose and Sparrow looked at each other, confused.

"It…it is all right, milord," Rose said quietly. Sparrow shuffled her feet, looking at the ground.

"No, it isn't," Lucien, answered, hand still rubbing his temples and concealing his face. "I asked you to come here as my guests and I nearly shouted at you. I am truly sorry." He removed his hand and smiled warmly. The children could almost see the man he used to be, the man he once was in that smile.

"I have a proposition for you," Lucien told them. "Why don't you two live here, in Castle Fairfax, with me?"

Rose and Sparrow nearly started at the offer.

"Wh-wh-what?!" Rose exclaimed. "Live here wi-wi-with you? Bu-bu-bu-" she stuttered, trying to find the right words. Sparrow's mouth was agape.

"I can provide clean clothing, a warm bed, warm food," Lucien told them, smiling softly. "Anything you wish to have, it's yours."

Rose and Sparrow stared at each other; hardly believe what they were hearing. Live in a castle? It was a dream come true! Maybe this was the magic of the music box.

"If you have your answer," Lucien said. "Then please speak now." Lucien didn't show it, but he was getting slightly impatient.

Rose and Sparrow looked at each other one more time, but their answer was written all over their faces. They didn't need a second thought.

"Of course, milord!" Rose exclaimed. "Our answer is yes, we would love to!" Rose could barely contain the tears from her eyes. Life was finally looking up. They could no longer sleep in a shack with the fear of death floating over them. Sparrow merely covered her face.

"Excellent!" Lucien exclaimed. "I shall have Jeeves make the necessary preparations!"

"Could we have a dog?" Rose asked tentatively. "We have one waiting for us at our home. Could we bring him with us?"

"Of course!" Lucien told them. "Whatever you want, just ask, and I shall give it to you! But for now, we need to bring you two to bed!"

Rose and Sparrow nearly cheered as they hugged each other, and giving their thanks to Lord Lucien. Lucien nodded and left the room to their own thoughts and wonder. As he walked down the hall, he couldn't help but smile. It was not the kind smile he had before, but a smile of triumph.

_If I cannot kill them,_ Lucien thought to himself. _Then I shall make them my own. I shall train them and raise them as my own. They shall then become my protégés and they shall help me make this world burn!_

Lucien stopped dead in his tracks.

_Why did I think that just now? _Lucien thought, concerned. He wiped his forehead. _I must be more tired than I thought._

He didn't notice for a brief second, his eyes flickered a pale black and gold. It was there for moment, and then as soon as it appeared, it was gone. It would reveal itself in time, but not now. It was too soon.

In the study, Rose and Sparrow looked at each other. Then they squealed as they leapt into each other's arms, jumping with joy and elation. Their wish had come true! It had come true! Their lives would be forever changed for the better! They could hardly wait!

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

Walking down the empty streets through the snow, Theresa, with her blind omniscient eyes, knew what happened before Rose and Sparrow made their choice.

_They have blindly joined him_, Theresa thought wearily. _They may have doomed Albion to oblivion._

She was surprised that Lucien, instead of killing them, had instead offered to raise them as his own.

_Out of all the possible paths he could have tread, that path was the least likely,_ Theresa pondered. _And in my arrogance, I ignored it. Now, he has the girls and I do not know my next step._

Theresa walked out of the winter filled town of Bowerstone. It had changed so much in 500 years that Theresa sometimes wondered if it was the same town. But some things never changed. That was one thing that Theresa learned from her years.

_This world will still need a hero, _Theresa surmised. _And I believe that my only choice is to bring one back._

Theresa walked across the bridge, her milky-white eyes seeing the path before her. As she walked through the gates, she had made her decision. It was a risky path, but during times of great peril, sometimes the riskiest decisions were the best.

_This world needs a hero. And this world shall have one, even if I have to drag his confounded body from the Void itself,_ Theresa pondered to herself. _I wonder how he will react when he wakes up?_

She thought back to the Raid of Oakvale. The fires, the blood, the brutality, and the knife that cut her eyes. It was the night a certain Hero had been changed forever, the night that set him on his path towards greatness. People today revered him with a multitude of names such as the Liberator, the Pilgrim, and the Paladin were among them. They also feared him with names such as the Maleficious, the Reaper, and the Deathbringer. But across the land of Albion, he was known as the Hero of Oakvale, as the Archon, as the Gladiator, and foremost above all, the Jack-Slayer.

To Theresa, however, he was her brother. Alexander the Chicken Chaser. Alexander the Arseface. And Alexander the Piemaster. Theresa chuckled at the thought.

She had made her decision. She would bring back her brother, Alexander, the Hero of Oakvale, the Archon, the Jack-Slayer and the Chicken Chaser back from the Void of Death. And she knew that he would gladly help her destroy this evil. No matter how long it took, he would win and he would vanquish Lucien.

Theresa was saddened by the fact, but if Sparrow got in Alexander's way, he would crush her as well. But they made their choice and she made hers.

This world was filled with choices and they all had to make their own.

Theresa made her choice as she walked through the snow near Bower Lake.

She would bring Alexander back from the dead and save Albion from the hands of Lord Lucien.

* * *

This is a new story mixing elements of Fable: The Lost Chapters with Fable 2. Probably be rated Teen because I can't see how it'll be rated M at this point in time. But this may change; as I have said before, I can have a fu…'messed' up imagination (close one).

Tell me what you think.

EDIT: I first started this story I didn't think much of it. It was just something I could do when I was taking a break from Mass Effect. However, as the story grew, I found myself more and more intrigued by the setting. Soon, I had written out an entire 1000-year history of Albion, I had begun thinking of different twists and turns and soon, the story became a trilogy in my mind. So, I went back to this chapter and edited it to accommodate this. I'm liking it very much.

The beginning song is from Blind Guardian's 2006 album _A Twist in the Myth_. It is a reworked and edited version of the song 'Skalds and Shadows.' It seemed to fit very well. You will also see this first part has an extremely long title, like the olden days.


	2. Part 1: 10 Years Later

Disclaimer: I do not own the Fable universe or Lionhead studios.

WARNING: This chapter contains a scene of some sexual themes, some blood, some violence and some malicious content. Reader discretion is advised (not really but its fun to put that there).

† _Part 1 ≈ Ten Years Later †_

Fang sniffed the area, searching for anything new. His black mane shown in the summer sunlight as he bent his nose towards the ground, teeth slightly bared. His pitch black eyes searched the locale for anything hostile; seeing none, he went back to sniffing the ground.

Behind the canine, Sparrow walked forward, brown eyes gazing around, and long brown hair blowing in the wind. A girl of 18, she had finally come into her own, having grown into her full, shapely womanly body. She wore a brown corset underneath a dark green, crop top jacket that stopped above her waist. She wore blue shorts that ended barely two inches below the waist. She called them 'short-shorts.' On her legs, she wore green thigh-high boots covered most of her legs. She didn't mind her clothing; she was comfortable.

She would have been considered very beautiful if she was wearing something a little more appropriate and she would have been considered a 'looker' by some of the lecherous men nearby. The only thing that stopped them was the menacing weapons on her person. A longsword hung in its sheath on her back and a newly invented clockwork pistol hung on her belt by her side. That and she was the adopted daughter of Lord Lucien.

The lecherous men couldn't take their eyes off of her, but they knew better than to try to go near her. Look but don't touch. Look, careful not to be seen looking. Some of the men went back to the shacks they had for houses, seeing no sport in the world today, deciding to drink themselves to unconsciousness in their own filth.

Sparrow was currently standing in Bowerstone Old Town, the place where she grew up. It was in ruins now, in even worse conditions than before. She always had to keep her head up, because there was no law here. Anything went. Twice the other day, she was almost crushed by some of the drunks who decided it was a good idea to fly. They succeeded for a moment, and then their drunken laughter was silenced by a sudden stop.

She didn't pay any of the drunks any mind; it was early morning and the only people still conscious were trying to get the ones passed out on their 'couches' to leave their 'homes.'

Sparrow sighed and scratched Fang's head, who had given up trying to find anything new. Partially, Sparrow felt responsible for the current state of Old Town, though a part of her thought that was just utter nonsense. Sparrow had found arrest warrants for five notorious criminals in Nicky the Nickname's gang. But instead of handing them over to Derek, the Town Guard, she had handed them over to a scoundrel, Arfur, for five gold coins, which they had spent on a magical music box so they could escape the life they had before.

Sparrow often wondered if Old Town would have been different if she had given the warrants to Derek instead. If anything would have been different then.

So here she was, standing in front of a dilapidated shack in an abandoned corner of Old Town.

_This was our paradise,_ Sparrow thought as she looked on. _This corner was just as abandoned as it is now. Only, two little girls lived. It was not the corner that was abandoned. It was us._

She had lived here before. Spent 8 years here, trying to survive. And now, 10 years later, she stood looking at it, living in a castle, against all probabilities. That life seemed so far away, as if it had never existed. Sparrow came here to remind herself where she came from. And where she might go if she failed.

She wouldn't fail. She couldn't.

Fang growled and Sparrow's mind shot back to where she was. There was a man approaching her. She smelled the booze on his breath and person, guessing that he was one of the lecherous men. And from the sound of his footsteps, he was still completely drunk.

The man giggled as he approached and placed an arm around Sparrow.

"Tsh-Hey, there good, lookin'!" the drunk man's slurred voice called. His breath reeked of ale. "Whysh you here all ALONE?"

Sparrow didn't answer.

"Tsh-mayhaps you lookin' for a good time!" he laughed gaily. He placed himself directly behind her and placed his crotch against her back.

Sparrow didn't do anything.

"Heh heh, we can havsh a good time all day!" he laughed again, moving his hips slowly.

"Rupert!" one of the onlookers called. "Get ur arse back here! NOW!" Rupert didn't listen, instead began getting into the motion.

"Hey," Sparrow called, looking over her shoulder, and crossing her arms. "Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?" Rupert laughed again. Sparrow didn't smile.

"Yoush knows what that is! Thatsh my WILLY! THATSH MY GUN!" Rupert laughed again and began pumping a little harder. Sparrow narrowed her eyes.

"Wrong," Sparrow's voice was cold. "That is _my_ gun." She pulled the trigger and fired.

What Rupert was too drunk to realize was that Sparrow had got a hold of her clockwork pistol and brought it around herself when she crossed her arms. She had pointed it against Rupert's hardened member.

And now his member was no more.

If Rupert was half-asleep, he was wide awake now and clutching his the area between his legs while rolling on the ground, screaming and crying. Blood soaked through his fingers and onto the ground. Tears poured from his eyes, obscuring his vision as Sparrow looked on without remorse.

Sparrow placed the Red Dragon back into its holster on her left side. She admired the gun for its brutality and strength. When she was visiting Westcliff, she had won this amazing pistol in a shooting contest. Now, it was by far one of her favorite weapons. She smiled affectionately.

Rupert's cry brought Sparrow's attention. She saw the poor man rolling on the ground, trying to crawl away. Sparrow thought for a moment.

_Should I let him go?_ She pondered. _He was drunk and not in his right senses. However, he should not have gotten that drunk to begin with. He is clearly a man who is consumed by his demons. So I guess I have to end his life. Should I do it personally or let Fang finish him?_

Sparrow looked over at her faithful friend, who was drooling slightly, but was waiting obediently for her command. Sparrow looked at the man crawling away and looked up at the group of vile men watching. They weren't even trying to get closer and help their 'friend'. They had condemned their friend by their fear. And their selfishness.

_So be it,_ Sparrow decided. _If they do not have the courage to help their friend, then they are no better than the worms that slither through the dirt. They deserve only to live with their fear and with their guilt. Spineless cowards!_

Sparrow reached for her longsword and drew it. It was called the Maelstrom, a gift she had received from the Temple of Shadows. It was a menacing weapon, with etched in notches and a green shine that continued to give its horrifying light. She raised it and brought it to her side with a horrifying light in her eyes.

She knelt down to the ground and grabbed the back of Rupert's head. He moaned as she pulled his head back, exposing his neck. Sparrow brought the sword to his neck, bringing it closer to it inch by inch.

"Puh-puh-Please!" His voice was clear now. "I'm-I'm-I'm sorry! I'll never do it again!"

"I know," Sparrow told him. She brought the blade even closer.

"I-I-I have a wife and kid at home!" He cried. Sparrow glared at the coward.

"Would you stoop so low as to use your family as a shield?" Sparrow asked him coldly. Rupert stared at her wide-eyed, blurry from the tears. "You are a gutless worm that slithers around trying to find the next bar that will take you. You will drink yourself to death and then go back home, to the life that you could have made better had you actually worked for it. If you had worked once in your pathetic life, then you could have escaped from here and then wouldn't have any need for the ale you so desperately crave. But instead, you slither and crawled, trying to drown your troubles in the blur of the booze."

Rupert cried, closing his eyes.

"If your life is so horrible," Sparrow concluded. "Then I give you the chance to leave it."

"By killing me?!" Rupert shouted. The cold blade touched his neck.

"You could have left me alone," Sparrow told him. "But by bringing your drunken advances on me, you gave me the right to your pathetic life. Your place in this world is no longer needed. Now vanish."

Sparrow slid the Maelstrom slowly across his neck, drawing a line of blood that spilled onto the ground. Rupert gurgled.

"All your meaningless life you drowned in ale," Sparrow whispered. "Now, you shall drown in your own blood."

The Maelstrom finished its run across Rupert's neck and Sparrow hefted it up and wiped it clean on the filthy cretin's back. Filthy blood returns to filthy cretin.

In his own blood, Rupert drowned and slowly died. He gurgled one more time and stopped twitching. Sparrow returned the Maelstrom to its scabbard. Fang urinated on the man.

Sparrow looked up and saw four men walking towards her, wielding clubs and swords. She scoffed.

"Now you come to his aid?" Sparrow asked pointedly. "After the man has died, you come to his aid? Is this world filled with nothing but spineless cowards?"

"Cowards we may be," one of the men said, gripping his club. "But we ain't monsters!" Sparrow glared at him and he stepped back a little.

"Who are the real monsters?" She asked them sternly. "The people who live their lives to the fullest, or the dogs that wallow away in self pity, a blight on the rest of the world?"

They didn't answer. Instead, Sparrow saw that they got even angrier. She sighed and looked at Fang. Fang looked at her and barked. He was ready.

Sparrow stretched her fingers and a crackling blue energy came to them. Small lightning bolts shot from them as she put more power into them. Fang growled threateningly at the group.

"If you truly be men," Sparrow threatened. "Then die honorably, fighting to leave the pathetic lives you live. If not, then die with the maggots that infest your bodies!"

She screamed as she attacked. The blue light from the alleyway could be seen from the top of Castle Fairfax.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

Theresa panted heavily on her hands and knees, coughing when she breathed in the dirt and dust floating in the air. The chamber was a mess, though she had tried to clear away her notes before she started the ritual, somehow they were still blown away by the sheer force of the power it emanated. She didn't care about it though; she was exhausted. The spell she used sapped her all of her strength. She still didn't know if it worked.

_10 years,_ she thought desperately. _10 whole years. I had researched and checked every procedure needed to perform this. It _had_ to work! It just had to! The world is at stake!_

Theresa dared herself to look up. Standing in the middle of the incantation circle she had drawn stood a man. Naked though he was and completely hairless, he held himself up with complete confidence and pride. His large muscles glistened with sweat in the faint light, tough and full of power. His veins glowed a bright blue, pulsing along with his blood.

Slowly, his strength left him and he collapsed onto the ground with a groan. Something fell onto the ground from his body, but Theresa ignored it. She rushed over to the man and knelt down beside him.

"Be easy," Theresa said loudly. "Don't push yourself."

"Where am I?" the man said weakly, coughing as new breath flowed into him.

"You are in the Chamber of Fate," Theresa answered.

"The Heroes Guild?" the man said desperately. Theresa bit her lip.

"I am afraid that the Heroes Guild is no more," Theresa told him gently.

"What?" the man cried. "It had been saved! Jack never destroyed it!" Theresa placed her hand on his shoulder and the man started slightly to her touch.

"Listen to me," Theresa said gently. "It has been 500 years since Jack tried to take the Sword of Aeons. 500 years since you saved the world from him. And 500 years since you died." The man looked up slightly and looked at the palm of his hand.

"Right," the man whispered. "I died. In her arms. Then why…"

"Albion is in danger once again," Theresa explained. "Only you can save it. You, the Archon, has the strength to protect Albion and the world."

"Who are you?" the man asked. Theresa leaned back slightly.

"Alexander," Theresa said. "Do you not recognize your own sister?" The man looked up and stared at her. His sharp blue eyes pierced into her blank white eyes. He raised his hand slowly.

"Theresa?" Alexander gasped slightly. Theresa couldn't help but smile.

"Yes, little brother," Theresa said. "It is I." Alexander's hand touched her cheek and stroked it affectionately. Alexander smiled. Then he looked down, frowning. He could see the back of a mask. Picking it up slowly and carefully, he turned it over. The mask was completely white except from around the right eye, which was red. Alexander and Theresa looked at with slight disgust.

"Jack's mask still clings to you," Theresa stated. Alexander nodded.

"It will never leave me," Alexander muttered sadly. Theresa gazed on with her white eyes, reached forward and hugged her little brother. Alexander hugged her back.

"I am glad to see you again, little brother," Theresa said happily.

"And I you, sister," Alexander replied. They held each other at arms length and examined each other.

"Let me put some clothes on you," Theresa said. "And I will tell you why you are here. I do not have much gold, so I could only get you the cheap, pauper clothing. I hope I remembered your correct size."

"Any clothing will do," Alexander stated. "I have worn worse than the clothes of a pauper." He thought back to his time at the Darkwood Bordello and shivered. Had it really been necessary? Looking back, he could have just gotten the perverted old bordello owner drunk instead of doing…what he did. He shook his head.

_Hindsight stings like a queen wasp sometimes_, he thought bitterly. But he had to admit to himself, he was young. Still, it unnerved him.

Theresa walked back to him, carrying a neatly folded pile of clothing in her hands. Alexander took it from her graciously and got dressed.

"So," Alexander said. "What have you brought me into this time, dear sister?"

"Are you still upset about that whole Bargate prison thing?" Theresa asked.

"Yes, I am still _very_ upset about 'that whole Bargate prison thing!'" Alexander scolded. "I was in that prison for a whole year because of you!"

"It was for a good reason, brother. Jack was holding our mother captive and you, like the good son you were, went to go rescue her," Theresa told him in a matter of fact tone of voice. Alexander grimaced; he couldn't deny her logic. Oh, how he hated it when his sister was right! And she was right nearly all the time!

"Did you see mother?" Theresa asked. Alexander paused for a moment.

"When Jack reappeared in the Northern Wastes," Alexander began. "I came across the Bronze Gate that separated Archon's Shrine to Archon's Folly. It could only be opened with the souls of three heroes. After some searching, I found mother's ghost in Oakvale. She made me use her soul to open the gate. I assume she was allowed to enter…that place."

"The Void?" Theresa asked. Alexander shook his head.

"No, when we die, we don't go to into the Void. Well…" Alexander thought for a moment. "I guess you _do _go to the Void, but it is a much more…pleasant place than the realm where the Court resides. The Court's Void is dark and painful. Where the other people go, it is much brighter and painless. I assume mother went there."

"You didn't?" Theresa asked.

"No," Alexander said. "Jack made sure of it." Theresa looked sadly at him.

"I thought so," Theresa said quietly. Alexander straightened.

"But enough of that," Alexander said. "Again, what have you gotten me into now, sister?"

Theresa smiled, took a chair and looked at him with completely white eyes.

"I trust you know of the Spire," Theresa said.

Alexander's smile slowly began to fade as Theresa recounted her story. Of the Spire and of the Heroes that lived today. And of Sparrow and her sister. By the time she was done with her tale, Alexander was leaning against a nearby table, frowning at the floor.

"So," Alexander stated. "This 'Lucien' fellow wishes to rebuild the Spire and use it's powers to bring his dead family back from the dead."

"Correct," Theresa nodded.

"And he has recruited the fourth Hero to help him accomplish this goal," Alexander continued.

"Correct," Theresa nodded again.

"And we have to stop him from gathering the Heroes of Strength, Will and Skill and using the power within their blood to activate said Spire," Alexander continued.

"Correct," Theresa nodded yet again.

"Because you believe that his motives may have changed over the last ten years and he may actually be using the Spire for other means that we don't yet know of," Alexander concluded.

"Correct," Theresa nodded for the final time. Alexander stared at the floor for a moment.

"Well," Alexander stated excitedly. "This doesn't seem too hard!"

Theresa smiled. He was still the same goofball she knew and loved.

* * *

I actually completed this chapter about 2 weeks ago. Why did I wait this long to publish it?

Mainly because I'm not that comfortable with this story. With Mass Effect, I brainstormed for nearly a year before I started writing. This one is more a spur of the moment story so I don't really know what I'm doing and that makes me uncomfortable.

Don't get me wrong; I know exactly how it's going to end and all the major plot points. Everything in between? Nothing. I'm even beginning to think I should change this from a T rating to an M rating. Or put it on hiatus until I'm certain.

The way my imagination works, I always seem to think up M rated stuff. If you want it to stay T rating, just send me some tips on how I should tone it down. If not, I'll probably change it to an M rating.

Expect the next chapter whenever.


	3. Part 2: Plans for the Night

Disclaimer: I do not own the Fable universe or Lionhead studios.

_†_ _Part 2 ≈ Plans for the Night †_

Sparrow angrily walked down the hallway, her booming steps echoing throughout Fairfax Castle. Fang walked along with her, tongue lolling out and panting. Sparrow was furious; all the servants and maids could see it. Still they bowed before her, trying to hide their fear. Sparrow barely noticed them as she sped past them.

_Such a bloody awful day_, she thought furiously. _Can't walk two steps in the blasted city without some bloke copping a feel on me!_

"Sparrow!" came a voice from an adjacent hallway. Sparrow stopped in her tracks. She sighed and went to where the voice came from.

The library of Castle Fairfax was enormous. The shelves of books towered to up to nearly three full stories. Each shelf was lined and filled completely with books of all kinds. Some were brand new from Fiction Burns, the bookstore at Bowerstone Market. Others were so old that they were almost falling apart if taken off the shelf. Sparrow was always filled with wonder and elation. She loved to read and would often spend hours pouring over the books. Even books that Lord Lucien didn't order her to read.

She looked over by the window and saw Rose standing in front of a desk by the window. The setting sun shone brightly through the window, her silhouette casting a shadow on the nearby wall. Tall and regal, she wore posh and pristine upper classmen clothing, with her dress coming down to her ankles. Her sleeves were tight around the wrists but became looser as it went up to the shoulder. The entire dress was a stately white that was shone as brightly as it could without the help of the sun shining behind it.

Rose's face was very much very similar to Sparrow's, but even though they were similar in age, Rose was much more stately and regimented. While hard training under Lucien's tutelage hardened Sparrow, Rose was toughened not by physical means but through intellectual and political means. It was Rose's job to keep Bowerstone's economy flourishing in Lucien's place. This created a difference in the sister's features. While they were both beautiful, Sparrow's beauty was dark and mysterious, Rose's beauty was bright and radiant.

Not today though. Rose looked up from the book she was reading, shooting a berating look at her younger sister. Sighing to herself, she closed the book and glided across the room towards the bookshelves.

"So," her melodious voice cut through the air. "Would you mind explaining what happened today?"

"What do you mean?" Sparrow shifted her feet unconsciously.

"There was a bright light from Old Town earlier this afternoon," Rose stated. "Someone used Will there. Lightning, it looked like."

"Stop dodging the subject, sister," Sparrow said sharply. "You know who did it." Rose sighed as she placed the book back in its proper place. She paused for a moment, pondering. Fang trotted over to Rose who smiled at the black dog. Rose held out her hand and allowed Fang to lick it softly. He wagged his tail before turning and leaving the room, possibly heading to the kitchen. Rose watched him go.

"Why do you do this, little Sparrow?" Rose asked quietly. "Why do you always pick on helpless? Why are you always so…brutal?" Sparrow sighed and sat down, leaning the Maelstrom against the table. The sword glowed a violent green, satiated with the blood from today. She propped her feet on the other chair and leaned back.

"What do you want me to say, Rose?" Sparrow asked. Her voice was hushed, almost desperate but still harsh. "Everywhere I seem to go, trouble seems to follow me. I don't ask these things to happen. They just do. People come after me and I kill every last one of them."

"But do you have to be so brutal with them?" Rose asked. She understood enough about Sparrow's job. While Rose was the intellectual, Sparrow was the warrior. That was just here nature. She knew that thugs and brutes of all types would attack Sparrow on the many missions Lord Lucien sent her on (finding artifacts and people, mostly). She knew these missions were often dangerous and Sparrow couldn't afford to be soft. But still…

"If they attack me, I kill them," Sparrow told her gently but firmly. "They were willing to take my life. Why shouldn't I be willing to take there's? I can't hesitate or else I may die, Rose."

Rose looked deep into Sparrow's eyes and saw she was speaking the truth. Exasperated, Rose sat down on a nearby chair, staring off into the distance.

"It seems like I don't know you anymore, little Sparrow," Rose whispered. Sparrow's gaze softened and she leaned in closer to listen. "Our lives are so busy now. We barely spend any time together anymore. Just as a family. Whenever we do eat together, it's like I'm sitting next to a stranger. What happened, little Sparrow? We used to be so close, but now…we've become completely different people."

Sparrow nodded slowly. She couldn't deny it; ever since they moved from the slums and into the castle, their lives have never been the same. Ever since Lord Lucien began training them, it seemed he was slowly and unknowingly driving a wedged between them. Sparrow looked over at her sister and realized the truth: Rose no longer looked like the sister she once knew. She looked like a complete stranger.

"Things change," Sparrow whispered. "It always does."

Rose nodded slowly and sadly. Sparrow thought for a moment, then smiled as an idea popped in her head. She leaped from her chair and strode over to Rose where to dropped to her knees and leaned in until she was nearly two inches away from her face.

"Let's go out!" Sparrow stated excitedly, her eyes gleaming. Rose blinked.

"What?" Rose asked. She recognized the movement, the act of getting uncomfortably close to someone while saying something. It meant that what she was saying wasn't up for debate.

"Tonight! Let's go out!" Sparrow restated, even more excited then last time. "Just the two of us!"

"…What?" Rose asked again. This was so sudden and so…random.

"We'll go out to the Cow & Corset and rough it up!" Sparrow insisted. "We'll talk, play some games and have fun! Just the two of us! What do you say?!" Sparrow's eyes glistened in anticipation. Rose stared and sighed.

"Fine, fine!" Rose exclaimed. "I can't say no to you. We'll go out. Just promise me that you won't get into any fights, okay?"

"I promise!" Sparrow held up her right hand as she said this. She leapt into the air and trotted towards the door. "We'll leave around sunset, okay? And remember to wear your hottest clothing!" She laughed gaily as she ran down the hallway.

Rose wasn't so sure about this anymore.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

Alexander stared at the map of Albion, trying to recognize the lands that he used to roam. The names were changed slightly, but he could still recognize what they were before. Like Brightwood, for instance. Its general area was where Greatwood would have been. Some were little changes like this but other changes were larger. Alexander seemed to remember the western coastline to be further inland than what the map was indicating.

_So much has changed,_ he thought to himself. _But that's to be expected, I guess. It's been nearly 500 years since my time._

He looked onto the table and eyed the contraption that Theresa had laid there.

_A…pistol_, he struggled over the name. It felt so foreign to him. Alexander picked up the strange object and held it in his hand. He then aimed it at a nearby mural. The one depicting Jack of Blades holding his mother and sister in cages. He slowly aimed and slowly pulled the…trigger.

The contraption fired and Alexander nearly lost the thing when the recoil hit his arm, causing it to tingle. Smoke left the…barrel and filled his nostrils with a putrid smell that nearly made him sneeze. Alexander looked at where his…bullet landed.

The bullet hole was nowhere near Jack.

Disgusted, Alexander tossed the contraption away, shaking his head.

_Terrible thing,_ he thought. _Disgusting thing. If I have to use one of those things again, it would be too soon._ Sighing to himself, he looked at his clothing. Cloth and leather interwove to make this "lower class" clothing that Theresa mentioned. It was…comfortable, to say the least. Still, Alexander felt so exposed. He was more accustomed to the hard, platemail armor that he often went adventuring around in. With this…he felt unprotected.

"Are you sure I have to wear this thing?" Alexander asked his sister, who was studying some old books and lore. Theresa didn't look up as she answered.

"You'd rather wear that old battle armor?" she asked. "The one that belonged to the Archon of the Old Kingdom?"

"Sure," Alexander said. "That suit was very nice! Made from the remains of the Platinum trolls of old! It was very nice and comfortable. Also it was very fun to wear since barely anything could harm it. I always laughed when some poor fool's arrow bounced off of me!""

"That thing was also terrifying," Theresa noted. "Do you remember how the children ran away from you when you wore it?"

"That…was not fun," Alexander sighed regrettably.

"You would draw too much attention, anyways," Theresa said. "A grown man wearing a full suit of armor? They'd probably lock you away in Bargate prison again."

"Is that place still around?" Alexander asked.

"No, I think they tore it down after…" Theresa stopped her line of thought. She glanced over at her brother with her white eyes.

"After what?" Alexander asked. Theresa hesitated.

"Nothing. Never mind," Theresa answered before turning back to her books. Alexander furrowed his brow then shrugged.

"So the armor's out," Alexander stated.

"I'm afraid so," Theresa said. "It doesn't matter, does it? You were always summoning your clothing and weapons whenever you wanted to. You said it was too heavy to carry all of your weapons on you."

"Right," Alexander said, memory coming back to him. "I created a pocket using Will where I could store all my items and summon them whenever I wanted to. I hope it still works."

Alexander breathed in held out his hand and concentrated. A bright light shone in his hand and Alexander focused the light into the shape of a familiar weapon. Soon, the light faded and in his hand was the Wellow's mighty Pickhammer.

"Still works!" Alexander exclaimed. "After 500 years, it still works!" He laughed gaily as Theresa looked on with an amused smile on her face. She stood up and walked over to the map of Albion laid on the table.

"Come, little brother," Theresa said. Alexander's weapon disappeared from his hand as he walked over to the map. Theresa pointed to a city on the map. "You need to go to Bowerstone. You'll find that it has changed much since you last visited there, though some parts you may recognize."

"Sounds easy enough," Alexander said. "Any reason why?"

"I'll tell you when you get there," Theresa said. "I need to speak with someone, so I will meet you there?" Alexander looked over at Theresa.

"Scythe?" he guessed.

"Yes," Theresa answered. "I need to know where he stands."

"Don't waste your time," Alexander said angrily. "He doesn't care about the people of this world. He prefers to watch from the sidelines."

"But he will come when he thinks he's needed," Theresa said.

"Exactly," Alexander said. "When _he_ thinks he's needed. He doesn't realize that people need him all the time."

"Regardless," Theresa said. "I must speak with him. Go to Bowerstone and I will meet you there. That Cullis Gate will take you back to the surface. Follow the main road and you will find Bowerstone."

Alexander sighed before nodding.

"Good luck, brother," Theresa said before she vanished in a burst of light, leaving Alexander in his own thoughts.

"Good luck, sister," Alexander said to the air. With one last glance at the once glorious Chamber of Fate, he walked over to the Cullis Gate. The pillar of light hummed with a hidden energy as he approached it. Without a second thought, he stepped through and light enveloped him. The world spun and shifted around him as he waited. When the shifting and spinning stopped, he was on top of a large hill of rock.

The sun shone brightly as Alexander examined the world. The wind lightly touched his face and across the lake. Alexander breathed in deeply as he took in everything that surrounded him. At least Albion had not lost any of its beauty. The trees were still as magnificent as ever, the water just as clear. He smiled to himself.

He didn't notice the giant beetles that surrounded him, hungry for blood.

Alexander looked around at where he was standing. Around the Cullis Gate, there were three circular platforms that ringed the gate he was currently standing on. Alexander didn't know what they were for but he didn't really dwell on it. He had to get to Bowerstone.

The giant beetles crept in closer.

Alexander looked around the nearby shores, and found the main road. It wasn't really much of a road. It was more of a dirt path but it was still a road. He could even see some traveling traders walking on it, trying to sell their wares. At least _that_ hadn't changed.

One of the giant beetles leapt, biting its pincers.

Without a thought and without movement, the air around Alexander shimmered and expanded, pushing the beetles backwards suddenly. The beetles were forced backwards as they tried to run. Some even exploded from the sheer force of the…expansion of air. Alexander barely blinked.

Alexander walked forward and down from the top of the hill, heading in the general direction of Bowerstone. Behind him, he left very little evidence that any beetles had been there before he arrived.

* * *

Here ya go. Don't really have much to say.

Enjoy.


	4. Part 3: The Road to Bowerstone

Disclaimer: I do not own the Fable universe or Lionhead studios.

_†_ _Part 3 ≈ Bowerstone †_

Roland the Bard tried his best to keep his footing as he ran. Panting heavily, he sprinted desperately away from the bandit that chased him. Eyes wide with fear, he tried to not look back at the figure of death behind him. He could hear the man pursuing him; hear his curses, his taunts and the swing of his sword. Tears flowed from his eyes as he wailed in terror, tasting the mucous running down from his nose. He felt a hot, wetness between his legs but he didn't bother to check himself.

"Get back here, you sorry little git!" the bandit screamed. "I promise I'll kill you quickly! Or are you taking me to your mother! She could join in on the fun!"

Roland tried his best to ignore the shouts and focused only on running. Running away. Running away from certain death.

His foot caught on something and he sprawled onto the ground with a shriek. In moments, the bandit was on him.

"There you are!" the bandit roughly grabbed Roland's shoulders and turned him over.

"Please!" Roland wailed. "Just take my gold and go!"

"That's what I was going to do!" the bandit pointed his rusty longsword in Roland's face. "But you decided to run! You made me lose my breath! Now I have to kill you for that!"

Roland saw a grim satisfaction in the bandit's eyes. He saw his own terrified face reflected back at him. As he looked deeper, he saw his own death staring back at him.

Roland wanted to close his eyes, but they forced him to watch the raising sword.

"You little girl, soiling yourself all over the place!" The bandit raised his sword up high. "I ought to cut that little bugger off!"

"Well, that is not very nice," came a calm voice from behind.

One second, the bandit looked surprised. The next second, his head was flying through the sky and into the lake. Roland blinked several times in confusion. He watched the headless body drop to the ground with a loud thud. Roland watched as the bandit twitched several times before lying still on the ground. He slowly raised his eyes upwards and through his tears, he saw the shape of a man standing over him.

The man examined his handiwork, head tilted as if he was inspecting his work. Curiously, his head barely had any hair on it. Even his eyebrows were only starting to come in simple fuzz, like he was newly born. His body was well toned with muscle, but Roland saw that they were relatively thin compared to the muscles of the blacksmiths and workers in Bowerstone. But Roland could sense a sort of…hidden power deep within these lean muscles. He wore rather dirty and tattered clothing; the clothes of a simple pauper. Hefted over his shoulder was a gleaming, brownish iron Pickhammer, newly coated with blood.

The man's blue eyes looked up at him, locking onto Roland's eyes. He perked a simple smile.

"You have never seen a man be killed before, have you?" the man asked.

Roland shook his head dumbly.

"Well, now you have," the man stated. He stretched his back. "Nothing like a good swing of your weapon to loosen your muscles."

With a shout of pure glee, he swung the hefty Pickhammer through the air several times, hacking away at invisible enemies. Roland watched with growing awe. He noticed how controlled his swings were. He could tell that whoever this man was, knew exactly how to use a weapon.

The man placed the weapon back onto his back where it disappeared from view.

Wait, did it disappear?

Roland peered closely and sure enough, the Pickhammer was gone. It had simply disappeared from view. One minute it was there and the next…it was just gone.

"Are you going to sit there in your own pee all day?" the man said loudly, shaking Roland out of his confusion.

"Sorry," Roland said abashed.

"Don't be," the man reassured him, chuckling slightly. Roland quickly stood up, wiping dirt off of himself, walking towards the nearby lake. He looked into the water, seeing his reflection, checking for injuries. Seeing none, he looked down at the dark stain on his pants.

"Oh, I'm just pathetic," Roland moaned. "I'll be the laughing stock of Bowerstone if anyone finds out."

The man looked at him for a moment.

Then kicked him into the lake.

Roland sputtered water as he shot back up onto his feet, shaking water off of himself.

"What in blazes was that for!?" Roland shouted.

"Now no one will know," the man commented.

Roland stared at the man for a moment. Then he examined himself and sure enough, the water had hid the stain on his pants effectively well. Now it just looked like he got pushed into the lake. Which he was.

"Who are you?" Roland asked.

"Oh, forgive me, I haven't even introduced myself," the man bowed low to the ground. "My name is Alexander. I am new to these parts, so I do not really know my way around. I am heading towards a place called Bowerstone, if you've heard of it. I heard your cry and saw you be assailed by that bandit so I helped as best as I could. I do hope he didn't hurt you."

Roland stared at him for a moment, put off by his strange speech.

"No," Roland said at last. "You killed him before he could harm me."

"Yes, pity that," Alexander said. "I had originally wanted to only knock him on his arse, but instead his head came clean off. Looks like I do not remember my own strength. Either that, or Wellow's Pickhammer is stronger than I remember and it is the weakest weapon I have."

"Whose pickhammer?" Roland asked, assuming he was referring to his weapon.

"Wellow," Alexander replied. Roland stared blankly, causing Alexander to raise one of his fuzz eyebrows up. "He ruled the northern ridges of the Old Kingdom. His warlords carried pickhammers forged from strong but extremely light metal from hidden mines."

Roland shook his head and Alexander threw his arms in the air in defeat.

"Kid's these days don't know their own history," Alexander groaned exasperatedly.

"I'm sorry, I just don't know what you're talking about," Roland told him.

"It is all fine, I guess," Alexander sighed. "I hope that you are able to guide me to Bowerstone, though. This land is…different than when I last remembered."

"Sure, sure," Roland said. "We just follow this road and we'll eventually make it there."

"Good man," Alexander said. "Shall we?"

Alexander began to walk forward, head held high and broad shoulders back. Roland trailed behind him. Sure enough, the pickhammer that he thought Alexander placed on his back was gone. Just seemed to vanish in mid-air.

"What happened to your weapon?" Roland asked. "Wellow's Pickhammer?"

"I put it back where I left it," Alexander explained.

"Back where?" Roland asked.

"Somewhere else," Alexander told him and said nothing else.

Together, the two men walked on in silence, Roland slowly drying off in the noon sun and Alexander whistling a tune that Roland did not recognize. They were nearing the borders of Bowerstone when Alexander asked him a question.

"So what do you do, sir?" Alexander asked him. "I am also afraid that I do not know _your _name."

"Oh! My name is Roland," Roland replied. "I'm a bard. Though, not a terribly good one, I'm afraid. I'm just starting out. I was actually visiting the Gypsy Camp to hear their storytellers and hopefully get some inspiration, but no such luck."

"That is nothing to be ashamed of, bard," Alexander reassured him. "Even the mighty kings of old started out as a mere babe. I'm sure you'll do fine."

Roland looked at him for a moment, and then smiled. _Well, he's all right, I suppose,_ Roland thought to himself.

Soon enough, they reached the borders of Bowerstone and were met with a strange sight: large wooden spikes that extended outwards and upwards lined the road. There was also a large wooden carriage that blocked the road. A group of guards stood at attention by the road next to some travelers that sat on the ground. Alexander and Roland stopped in front of the cart.

"H'apologies, citizen," one of the guards told them. "The road to Bowerstone is closed, due to the recent bandit h'activity. H'I'm afraid that so long as the bandit, Thag, is alive, the road stays closed. If you're in an 'urry-like, you could always take care of Thag yourself."

"Take care of Thag ourselves?" Roland exclaimed. "Take care of Thag ourselves!? Are you serious?! Do you seriously expect us to take down that monster!? Despite the fact, no, _ignoring_ the fact that he commands over a hundred bandits, the man is over 10 feet tall and rip out a man's entrails and eat it for dinner!"

"Well, that can not be good for you…" Alexander commented.

"How can you expect a bunch of civilians like us to take down that man?!" Roland shouted. The guard merely shrugged.

"That h'is not my problem," the guard told him. "Derek, the 'ead sheriff, is trying to round up guards to h'assault Thag's camp. But that is taking longer than he 'opes. Until then, no one gets into Bowerstone until Thag is dead."

"So if this Thag character is dealt with, then the road to Bowerstone will be opened," Alexander said.

"Correct, citizen," the guard replied.

"Well, this seems obvious enough," Alexander cracked his neck. He turned and patted Roland on the shoulder. "I will return in a moment."

"Fine…w-wait, what?" Roland turned to see Alexander walking down the hill. "Wait a minute, wait a minute! You're not seriously thinking about taking him on, are you?"

"Yes," Alexander replied.

"L-look, you are a strong fighter, and I'm…_extremely_ grateful that you saved my life, but you're going to get yourself killed!" Roland exclaimed. "Let's just wait for the guards to take care of it!"

"Why when I can take care of this little problem just fine?" Alexander asked curiously.

"Because you'll be killed!" Roland nearly shouted, baffled.

"And you know this for a fact?" Alexander asked. Roland voice caught in his throat. Alexander smiled. "Listen, bard, the future can never be truly known. And if you spend so much thinking about all the bad things that might happen, you will always be frozen in place. So, you say that I will die if I confront this Thag character? I highly doubt it, but okay, fair enough. But if I do not confront this character that instills so much terror in you, I will never know. And it will always make me wonder."

Roland watched Alexander descend down the hill, speechless. Roland sighed inwardly.

"By the way, where exactly is this Thag fellow's camp?" Alexander called over his shoulder. Roland sighed again and pointed the general direction. Alexander waved his thanks and continued to walk onwards, humming the same unknown tune to himself. Roland watched him go until he was out of sight. Then he turned around and placed himself next to a gypsy trader.

Roland thought about what the man said and realized that was always what he himself had always done. He was always so afraid of taking the next step because he was always afraid of what might happen, even when he knew that the chances of that ever happening were next to nothing.

_I'm always afraid,_ Roland thought to himself. _Always afraid of might happen._

"ARGH!!!!!"

Roland's head shot up at the sound of a man's scream. He leapt to his feet, afraid that Alexander had been killed. Until he heard a few different screams follow. They were faint and distant, but he heard them clearly enough.

"AHHHHHH!!!!

"WHERE DID HE COME FROM?!?!?!?"

"GET HIM BOYS!"

"This'll be eas-OH! MY ARM!"

"OH MY-!"

"IT'S JUST ONE MAN! CUT HIS-AHHHHH!!!!!!"

"HE'S KILLED JOHNNY!"

"HE OWED ME MONEY!"

"C'mon, men, we can take him toget-ARGH!"

"NO! PLEASE! DON'T-ARGH!!!!!!!"

"MY EYE FELL OUT!!!!!"

"ARGH, I DIDN'T EVEN DO ANYTHING TO YOU!!!!!"

"Hey, guys, what's going on-ARGH!!!!!"

"I CAN'T FEEL MY LEGS!!!!"

"YOU DON'T HAVE ANY LEGS!!!!!!!"

"NEEOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!"

"ME BOLLOCKS!!!!!! I NEEDED THOSE!!!!!!!!"

"MOMMY!!!!!! MOMMY!!!!!!"

"MY OTHER EYE FELL OUT!!!!!"

"MY STOMACH'S NOT SUPPOSED TO BE ON THE GROUND!!!!!"

"No, no, please! My body's not supposed to bend that-OH, ME SPINE!"

There was a pause.

Roland counted his heartbeats.

He counted twelve.

Then there was an explosion.

In the distance, a large, thin red plume of fire and smoke erupted from the camp and formed a small mushroom-shaped cloud in the sky. There was a deafening boom that nearly shattered his eardrums as Roland crouched, shielding his face from the brightness. Soon, the sound subsided and Roland rose up, eyes wide and mouth agape. He didn't even notice the small bits of debris falling slowly from the sky. Roland was pretty sure that if he disengaged his jaw, it would fall to the ground.

The smoke slowly began to fade as it rose high into the sky, away from the camp. After a few minutes, two gypsies, a man and a woman, ran up the hill, blackened with soot and coughing black smoke. They ran into the group around the Bowerstone road and fell to the ground, panting heavily.

"H'are you h'all right?" The guard asked, bringing him a flask of water.

"Yes, I'm fine," the man said through large gulps of water. "We're both fine."

"What 'appened?" the guard asked.

"We were some of Thag's prisoners," the woman explained. "He was going to ship us off to be slaves for…something. I thought we were going to die. Until he came along."

"A man in pauper clothing," the man continued. "He came strolling into the camp like he owned the blasted place. I thought he was going to die. All the bandits seemed to think so. But when one of them attacked him…" He shook his head.

"The bandit's head came clean off," the woman told them. "Then _all_ the bandit's took notice of him. They all tried to attack him, but they couldn't touch him! He was too fast! I couldn't tell if he was wielding a weapon or not! But it was a massacre!"

"It was bloody brilliant!" the man exclaimed. "He gave _all_ the bandits what was coming to them! Until Thag came out, that is. The man had been asleep. So, he was very upset when he came out to see all his men butchered!"

"But the man wasn't afraid!" the woman said. "His body just seemed to glow a soft, blue light! And when Thag attacked him, the man placed his palm on Thag's chest and he just blew up!"

"Boom!" the man demonstrated with his arms.

The group and the guards were silent.

"Are you sure he wasn't armed?" Roland asked.

"I think so…no, wait, he was armed! With a shining white blade!" the woman said.

"No, I'm pretty sure it was a black blade," the man said.

"H'are you even sure h'any of it even 'appened?" the guard asked.

"Did you see the explosions?" the man asked. "The soot on our bodies! What we're telling you is the truth!"

"Oh yeah?" one of the other guards called. "Then where is this man?"

His laughter was cut short when something large thwacked him in the head and he tumbled to the ground.

"Oh!" Alexander cried. "I am terribly sorry! I did not mean to hit you with that! So sorry! I was just kicking that thing around and it accidently got away from me! So sorry!"

The guard rubbed his head angrily and shot back up to his feet.

"Do you want to be arrested for assaulting a officer of the guard?!" the man was noticeably shorter than Alexander but he still stuck his finger against his chest.

"Oh my, no!" Alexander raised his hands defensively. "I was only wondering if that was Thag."

"Who?!" the guard shouted.

"Well, I kicked that head over to you to see if you recognized it, but I kicked too hard and it hit your head," Alexander explained.

The guard looked puzzled. Then he looked at what hit him on the head. Sure enough, it was Thag's head. The guard's face turned from puzzlement to pure horror. He retched up his insides onto the ground in front of Alexander, who rubbed his back.

"Terribly sorry about that," Alexander said warmly. "But, that does mean the road is opened, right?"

Everyone stared at him, mouth agape.

"Well, it does mean that, does it not?" Alexander asked again.

"Yes, h'it does," the original guard said. "C'mon, men, let's move this thing!"

All the guards helped move the carriage from the road as Alexander smiled brightly at everyone. He glanced down at his shirt and found the smallest drop of red on it.

"Blast!" Alexander said. "Bloody stain will take forever to get out!" He rubbed the spot roughly as he tried to get it out.

"Are you a hero?" Roland asked quietly.

Alexander looked up at him and smiled warmly.

"H'alright, citizens," the guard spoke aloud. "The road to Bowerstone is now open!"

Everyone waited for Alexander to walk to Bowerstone first before they all followed closely behind him, asking him questions. Roland was closest to him and he asked the most questions out of all of the people in the group. Alexander laughed cheerfully while humming the same unknown tune to himself. Whenever he was asked a question, he would give a one-word answer and returned to humming to himself.

* * *

The more I wrote this chapter, the more I realized I just introduced a major supporting character. That was unexpected.

This chapter has a bit more humor in it. Sets the overall tone of the story, having it go from dark to funny. I'm a humorless guy so if you think this is funny, please say so. I love reading your reviews!

I was thinking about putting a Red vs. Blue quote in this chapter. Just a small joke from Episode 7, I think, but I thought against it. Wouldn't make sense. Had I left it in, the line would have read:

"_Take care of Thag ourselves?" Roland exclaimed. "Take care of Thag ourselves!? Are you serious?! Do you seriously expect us to take down that monster!? Despite the fact, no, ignoring the fact that he commands over a hundred bandits, the man is over 10 feet tall and can __**tear a man's skull out of his head and beat him to death with it!"**_

"_**Wait, that does not seem physically possible…" Alexander commented.**_

Got my hands on the See the Future add-on. Can't really say much about it yet, though. You see, I started Fable 2 over again, which means that I can only complete the Snowglobe and Knothole Island's Big Freeze quest.

I know people have all been complaining about how short these DLC's are but I think these were specifically made to be played over the course of the game, not all at once. But whatever, you play your game how you want to.

Oh, and Marley & Me made me realize my own dog's mortality. He's getting old and weak. He can't make it up the stairs anymore without my help. Suffice it to say that I cried like a baby at the end of the movie.

Till next time, cheers.


	5. Part 4: A Drinking Game

Disclaimer: I do not own the Fable universe or Lionhead studios.

† _Part 4 ≈ A Drinking Game †_

Sparrow walked down the streets of Bowerstone Market, the setting sun upon her young face, trying to ignore the look of fear the crept onto the faces of the people around her; the hurried skip in their steps as they moved out of her way; the fake greetings and wishes for a good day that they gave her. She had created a reputation ever since Lord Lucien took her in. The rumors surrounding her were plentiful. Some said that she kidnap children and gave them to the hobbes; others that she killed every beggar in Bowerstone and another said that she loved to torture her enemies for fun, feeding their remains to her demonic wolfhound.

Some of it may have been true.

Still, she didn't particularly mind. She didn't care at all what they thought of her. In fact, she didn't care about these helpless peons in the slightest. They could all die for all she cared. It wasn't any consolation to her what happened to them. It was her sister's job to love the people and take care of them, not hers. Her job was to do all the dirty work that Lord Lucien and Rose couldn't be seen doing; keeping the Assassination Society happy enough to continue working for Lucien, making sure the highwaymen were doing their jobs, paying off Thag the Impatient and his bandits to kidnap wandering travelers and villagers.

And now Thag was dead. Killed by this newcomer named Alexander who killed Thag's entire camp barehanded. So the rumor went, at least.

Sparrow knew better than to trust the rumors. They were always twisted and warped far beyond from the truth. She knew this all too well. Still, this Alexander was interesting enough to get her attention.

Plus, she had to see if he knew anything about Thag's relationship with Lucien. If he did…well, she would see how this would play out.

"Oi! You!" Sparrow shouted at the nearest man.

"M-me? Ma'am?" the man stuttered, grabbing his hat and placing in front of his chest. Roland gulped, not knowing what to expect. She always had a violent temper, even when they were younger. Sparrow blinked, slightly shocked at seeing him again. Still, she persisted like he didn't know him. It was better that way.

"You were there when this Alexander person defeated Thag, correct?" Sparrow asked. "Do you know where he went when he entered the city?"

"W-well, madam," Roland stuttered again. "After he entered the city, he took a tour of it, seeing the sites, re-orienting himself, as he said. He then saw that the owner of Up In Arms was hiring, so he took the job and began to work at the forge."

Sparrow nodded and walked away, not even bothering to thank the Roland. It was better that they didn't interact anymore. Not because she thought she was better than him. It was just less painful.

Sparrow made her way to the Up In Arms blacksmith store, ignoring the stifled gasps around her. She walked up to the open stall-like building, feeling the heat emanating from within. Sparrow looked around inside, saw the owner rush up to her, probably asking what she wanted and if she needed anything; she didn't care and didn't pay attention. Her eyes were focused on the naked, muscled back of the stranger. He was pounding away on a red-hot blade, causing sparks to fly with each hammer strike. Sparrow waited for him to finish with it and place the blade in the water and onto the stack of finished blades. She noticed it was a perfect blade.

"Stranger!" Sparrow called.

The man peeked over his shoulder and looked at her. Sparrow thought she saw the hint of Will around his iris, a vague tint of glowing blue, but as soon as she saw it, it was gone.

"I am sorry, are you yelling at me, young miss?" the stranger asked, cocking an eyebrow at her. Sparrow placed her hands on her hips and shifted her weight onto one foot.

"You're the one who killed Thag the bandit, correct?" Sparrow stated. The man furrowed his brows. He looked thoughtful, scratching his head. Sparrow had to say he looked oblivious.

"Was this recent?" the man asked.

Sparrow's eye twitched.

"Yes, this was recent!" Sparrow exclaimed. "It was past noon when it happened! A short while ago!"

"Oh! _That_ Thag character!" the man exclaimed, smiling. "Yes that was I. I cut off his head, as I recall. Not particularly friendly, that one. He was kidnapping people, or so I assumed. What with all the people locked up in cages."

Sparrow's mouth dropped slightly. Was this man _really_ the so-called hero?

"They say you blew up the entire camp," Sparrow stated. "You called down the fires of the sun itself upon the camp."

"You should know better than to believe everything you hear, my dear," the man said cheerfully. He walked forward slowly, smiling softly. He placed his hands on the roof and leaned out slightly, allowing the sun to spill onto his face. It was then that Sparrow noticed how pale his complexion was. It was almost…deathly pale. He was also…surprisingly handsome.

"No you can't," Sparrow said. She smiled. "We haven't been properly introduced."

"No, we have not," he said smiling. "Forgive me, miss. My name is Alexander. Now, your reputation precedes you my lady. I have been told that the city of Bowerstone was under the temporary leadership of Lord Lucien's daughters. Rose and Sparrow, their names are. Rose is the most beautiful and divine of the daughters, the epitome of purity and goodness, I have heard. Sparrow has been said to be the daughter of the Shadows herself." He paused. "Are you Rose by any chance?"

Sparrow laughed in spite of herself. She didn't like being compared with her sister, but still couldn't help but laugh; one she had not had in a while.

"Sorry to disappoint you, sir, but I am Sparrow," she said, still laughing slightly.

"Well, the rumors do no do you justice, my lady," Alexander said, bowing slightly, still flashing his handsome smile. "Now, is there anything I can do for you on this day?"

"Firstly, on behalf of the people of Bowerstone, I would like to express my deep and heartfelt thanks to you," Sparrow lied. "You have taken care of a bane that has been torturing this city for what seemed like ages. You have the people, as well as my own, gratitude. If there is anything that I, or the people, can do for you, all you need do is ask."

"Please, my lady," Alexander said, shaking his head. "There is no need for such gratitude. I just happened to be on the road at the time and I needed to get into Bowerstone."

"Surely there is something that I can do for you?" Sparrow asked, not generally caring for the formalities. "Would you like some gold?"

"There is absolutely nothing you need to do for me, my lady," Alexander told her. He smiled. "And I don't think I really need the gold, though thank you for the generous offer." Sparrow thought for a moment. He was stubborn.

"Well, my sister and I will be at the Cow and Corset tonight," Sparrow told him. "We'd be honored if you joined us. And I would gladly pay for all your drinks."

"That is tempting," Alexander mused. He smiled. "Well, I cannot, in good conscience, pass up this kind offer. When should I arrive?"

"We should be there by the time the Town Crier that the stalls are closed," Sparrow. "You won't miss it, I promise."

"I eagerly await," Alexander said, bowing again.

"Farewell, Sir Alexander," Sparrow curtsied even though she hated it.

Sparrow turned on her heel and gracefully walked away, even in her leather boots and short pants. She was sure she would see him again tonight and when he did, she would ask what he found out about Thag. Alexander didn't seem the type to stand up two beautiful women. But just in case, she put a slight wiggle in her hips and bottom as she walked away, moving them both from side to side, making sure Alexander saw it.

He did. And he wasn't sure what to make of it. This time confused him immensely. Especially the women. Well, women always confused him but especially now, 500 years from his own time. From their strange dresses that looked two sizes to big for their hips to the way they shook their buttocks at him everywhere they went. Did they think he found that attractive? What ever happen to the simple batting of the eyelashes, the sighing as they looked at you with star-filled eyes and the occasional dropping of the handkerchief? Women nowadays seemed to be under the impression that men cared more about how desirable they looked with clothes on _and_ off than if their heads were not filled with air.

Shaking his head more confused than ever, Alexander glanced down at the grubby journal he found in Thag's little hut and sighed. No doubt this Sparrow had visited him for the contents of it. He knew that Lord Lucien had been paying Thag to kidnap people, but he didn't know why. Not yet, at least. He was sure that Sparrow intended to find out what he knew if he knew anything at all.

Alexander also noticed how well she was able to lie to his face. Or at least, how well she was able to conceal it. Alexander's keen eyes saw the little things (a slight tremor one side of the mouth; a twitch of the eyebrow) that gave her away, though he almost overlooked them. This Lord Lucien trained her well.

_A shame that such a beautiful woman would be working for this Lord Lucien fellow,_ Alexander thought to himself. _I fear that she will learn her mistake to her great dismay._

Alexander smiled.

This was getting a little interesting.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

The sun at long set and the moon at begun to climb towards the peak when Rose made her way to the Cow & Corset, her single, blue dress swaying in the wind. She passed by but did not make eye contact with a couple of drunkards whining about the gold they lost at spinnerbox. Rose was sure they wouldn't be able to recognize her but she kept her head down regardless. It was not that she was shy, far from it. But for some reason, she was embarrassed to be seen out in public. She didn't know why but ever since Lord Lucien took her in, she had begun to feel more and more comfortable in the lavish castle and less and less comfortable on the streets. Maybe she felt the streets were her sister's domain.

Rose turned the corner and walked up to the doorway. She hesitated a brief second before walking in and feeling the heat hit her face. The inside was busy to say the least. Men were gambling, asking the bard for the songs and tales they knew best ('The Adventures of the Jack-Slayer' was a particular favorite, even though the entire telling could take days depending on the bard), and filling the room with the smell of ale. Lots and lots of ale.

"Sister!" came a cry. Rose turned and saw her sister waving her over, having found a table in the corner, away from prying eyes.

"You're late!" Sparrow shouted over the din. "_And_ you're not wearing the dress I picked out for you!"

"You mean the one that was basically a corset with frills?!" Rose shouted back, taking a seat.

"It would look cute on you!" Sparrow told her.

"It would make me look like a whore!" Rose cried.

They laughed together, ignoring the drunken cries for them to show the men their legs. And other places.

"Sister," Sparrow said. "We will be having a guest tonight, I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all! The more the merrier!" Rose said.

"Have you heard of the man who killed Thag?" Sparrow asked. Rose nodded. "Well I asked him to come join us tonight." Rose froze.

"You're going to interrogate him, aren't you?" Rose said, anger growing. "I thought this was going to be our night off! We were just supposed to have fun tonight!"

"And we will, I promise! I haven't forgotten how important tonight is," Sparrow told her. "Besides I just want to ask him a few questions about who he is and where he comes from. Maybe ask him if he found anything at Thag's camp. If I find nothing, we'll have fun the rest of the night!"

"And if you do find something?" Rose asked, crossing her arms in frustration. Sparrow only smiled.

"Then we'll see what happens," was all she said.

Rose shook her head. She did _not_ like Sparrow's job. Not at all. She had been meaning to talk to Lord Lucien about it. Recently, the jobs have begun to become more and more dangerous, some of them even causing Sparrow to bring back a list of grievous wounds. She wished Lord Lucien would not place all of these dangerous missions on her sister. She also wished to know what exactly Lord Lucien planned to _do_ with the Tattered Spire once it's complete.

"Alexander!" a man cheered.

Rose turned and saw him. And she couldn't take her eyes off him. He was a tall person with well-toned muscles. He wore paupers clothing that seemed just a little too small for him, but it wasn't a major difference. Rose was more taken by how genuine his smile was. When he smiled, he meant it. It also looked like he got a little burned by the forge he was working at but she didn't really notice.

Alexander was waving to some of the other patrons, shaking hands with the others. The entire time he was smiling his genuine smile.

"Lord Alexander!" one man cheered.

"Please, I am no lord!" Alexander replied.

"Regardless, you must join us for a drink!" another man yelled.

"Yesh! We _must_ defeat the minionsh **of** Jack!" a drunkard yelled. Everyone roared with laughter. Alexander didn't really find it funny.

"Maybe another time, my good sirs!" Alexander told them. "I have business with two young ladies." The entire pub cheered him on as he walked towards the two young ladies. The cheering died a little when the realized who one of the two young ladies was.

"Good evening, my ladies," Alexander bowed to them deeply.

"Good evening, sir," Rose stood up to greet him. "I am Rose." Alexander took her hand and gave a slight peck on her wrist with his lips.

"You look beautiful, my lady," he told her. "Sparrow, my lady, you still look as splendid as ever."

Sparrow smiled, though she didn't really appreciate the pleasantries. And Alexander knew it. Alexander took his seat.

"First off, I must congratulate you _again_ for you victory against Thag," Rose told him. "We are _always_ gladdened when a common citizen takes it upon himself to correct a problem. I just hope that other people take up your example."

"Begging your pardon, my lady, but I do not think that they will," Alexander told her.

"What makes you say that?" Rose asked.

"Well, from experience," Alexander said truthfully. "I have seen great things happen at the hands of the unlikeliest person. I have seen many people feel inspired by these happenings. But in the end, it is completely at the hands of the person to act on that inspiration. Many people do not. They merely like to watch other people do the dirty work for them. Too scared or frightened to do it themselves. So they just watch the other people become great, envying them but not doing anything about it."

Sparrow understood his point of view completely. She remembered the same speech she gave that morning to the drunkards. In that small moment, Sparrow thought she felt a sort of camaraderie with this newcomer. But as soon as the feeling came, she killed it without a second thought. She had other things to worry about.

"But you must admit, sir, that this is not true for all people," Rose suggested.

"True, it is not all people in the world," Alexander agreed. "But that also presents a problem in itself: these people that _do_ strive to change themselves and the world do so alone. That was one of the many problems the Heroes faced. This sense of solitude; that they were truly the only people in the world able to do these things. That and the feeling that they were not being appreciated. This problem leads to other things, mainly the shift of attention from their duties to more personal endeavors. Some heroes would begin to think that there is no point in protecting the weak and would then strive to either rule them or ignore them entirely. This was true for Twinblade."

"The Bandit King?" Rose asked, confused.

"Yes, he was actually a member of the Heroes Guild once," Alexander continued, remembering the fight he had with the giant. "Twinblade was not the first Hero to turn his back on the Guild. He was simply one of many Heroes that turned their back on their vows and oaths to pursue their own goals."

"The Heroes Guild were a bunch of self-absorbed arses," Sparrow commented dryly. Alexander smiled at her.

"Yes, they were," Alexander agreed. "That is really all they have ever been. They only complete the quests that were given to them or the quests that interested them. Other than that, they really only pursued the things that suited their needs. Back when the Heroes Guild was still standing, this was all that the people ever really asked of them."

"Then they started asking for more," Rose said, nodding.

"Yes, according to what I have been told," Alexander said sadly. "They began to ask for more from the Heroes than they could actually provide. The people lost faith in the Heroes and began to fear them. This fear turned to anger, anger to hate and then the hatred caused them to burn the Heroes Guild to the ground."

Rose furrowed her brow. She thought she heard a sense of mournful loss in his voice. That he was truly filled with sorrow over the loss of the Heroes Guild.

_He must have really admired them as a child,_ Rose thought to herself. She thought back to the time when she too, admired the stories of the Heroes. Her favorites were always the female heroes, such as Scarlet Robe, the mother of the Jack-Slayer. She also loved Briar Rose and Whisper. But her favorite story of all was 'The Jack-Slayer and his Lady Grey.' She always wished a knight would come to her and got through those trials for her hand in marriage. But as she grew older, she grew tired of the stories, but she always had a special place for them in the library so she could read them whenever she wanted to.

"I must admit, you know your history," Sparrow told him. Alexander laughed.

"Who, me, my lady?" Alexander laughed again. "I merely read a lot of books in my day. I do not claim to know everything."

"Still, you know things that even I don't know and we have the largest libraries in Bowerstone," Sparrow said. "It's a small wonder that you managed to defeat Thag on your own."

Alexander smiled at her again and she could actually see that it was genuine.

"I am curious, however, as to why a character such as Thag would even bother to kidnap citizens in the first place," Sparrow said.

Rose's smile fell from her face and she looked at the ground. Alexander saw this.

_How interesting,_ Alexander thought to himself.

"Did you happen to find any evidence as to why he would bother with such a thing?" Sparrow continued. "Any piece of parchment? Just something that could have given a reason to his madness."

Alexander looked thoughtful for a minute. Then shook his head.

"No," Alexander said. "Nothing that I saw. The people he had kidnapped did not even know where they were going. I am truly sorry."

Sparrow looked at him for a minute then accepted it. He didn't know anything.

"It is quite alright," Sparrow said.

"I'll have Derek search through Thag's camp in the morning," Rose suggested. "But I don't think they will even find anything. He was a bandit, after all. Who knows why they do anything?"

"True, true," Alexander agreed. He cleared his throat. "My goodness, all this talk has made me thirsty." He raised a hand and asked a barmaid for a small glass of water.

"You're not going to drink?" Sparrow asked incredulously. "You're in a pub!"

"I never was a big drinker," Alexander admitted. Sparrow looked at Rose, a mischievous gleam in her eyes.

"Please don't do it, little Sparrow," Rose said worryingly.

"I bet you're not man enough to even handle a pint of ale," Sparrow told Alexander.

That caught his attention.

"What was that? I could not quite hear you over the sound of the pub. Did you just issue a challenge?" Alexander feigned ignorance.

"If you're up to it, stranger," Sparrow smiled evilly.

Rose put a hand to her face, rubbing her temples. This could not be happening.

"I am up for it if you are, _my lady_," Alexander told her.

Everyone in the pub cheered before they even realized that the patrons were listening to every word. Faster than they could even count (and most of them couldn't), they had a table set up by the bar, a chair on either side. Around the table, all the patrons stood, cheering them on. Rose found a spot near the table and shook her head, though she was a bit excited.

"Now I know all of you know the rules, but we have a newcomer here so I'll them again," the bartender shouted. "It's simple really. Each of them is to drink a pint of ale at the same time. If one of them leaves even a drop of it, they forfeit. We will continue to give them pint after pint of ale until one of them have either given up or collapsed. You both understand?"

They both did.

"Let's begin!" he shouted and the pub cheered. Soon, Alexander and Sparrow had both a pint of ale in their hands and they were staring each other down.

"Last chance, stranger," Sparrow said, smiling all the while.

"You do not threaten me, my lady," Alexander said, smiling his genuine smile.

They drank their first pint and the pub cheered.

They drank their second pint and the pub still cheered.

By their fifth pint, the pub had quieted down a bit.

By their tenth pint, the pub was not even sure that this was safe anymore, but didn't stop them.

By their fifteenth pint, the patrons had gone on to other things. Rose was sure she should be calling the doctor soon.

By their twentieth pint, they had broken a new record in the Cow & Corset.

Sparrow slammed the empty pint down onto the table.

"You knows what you should do? You know-you know- you you, know what you sh-should do? You sh-should find a, a, a…a pershon," Sparrow said.

Translation: You know what you should do while you are within the premises of the city of Bowerstone? You should find a whore for the night.

"You think show? You-you think I should pind a farshon?" Alexander asked.

Translation: You think I should do such a thing? You think I should find a whore for the night?

"What?! What did you shay? What! What? What in blashes is a pharshon?" Sparrow giggled.

Translation: What words just came out of your mouth? What in blazes is this whore that you are speaking of?

"Shparrows, yous drunk!" Alexander burst out laughing.

Translation: Sparrow, you have ingested too much ale and are now making no sense at all.

"Yous drunk, Alexshander!" Sparrow also burst out laughing, slowly swaying to the side.

Translation: No, Alexander, you have ingested too much ale and are now making no sense at all.

"Womansh, yous a evilsh lady who serves-who serves Skorm! Everyonesh said show!" Alexander scolded.

Translation: Woman, you are an evil woman who serves Skorm. Everyone in Bowerstone says so.

"I know! I-I-I know!" Sparrow began to cry. "I knowsh it! Itsh…itsh all these _rumorsh!_ All these _rumorsh_ running around this blashted city! Butsh, butsh…NONE of them are _true!"_ She began to bawl her eyes out.

Translation: I know it very well. It is all these rumors running this blasted city that I live in. But none of them are true and are only the result of people's fears.

"I am shorry! I am show shorry!" Alexander began crying with her. "It is not right! It is _all _not right! You don't desherve that hate! You don't! It is not right!"

Translation: I am sorry that things are so hard for you, my lady. It should not be this way. You deserve better.

"Damn right I do!" Sparrow screamed, tears gone.

Translation: You are absolutely correct in every way possible.

"Shrargh barghery orargh!" Alexander screamed back.

Translation: ???

"Shtop! Just-J-Just stop! Stop! Stop! Stop yelling!" Sparrow yelled.

Translation: Please cease and desist you yelling.

"WHERE'SH MY WIFE!" Alexander bellowed.

Translation: Where is the present location of my significant other.

"Barkeep, they're not even coherent anymore!" Rose shouted, feeling a headache creep forward. "We should really stop this now!"

"Yoush can't shtop me! Yoush, yoush, yoush just _can't!_" Sparrow shouted.

Translation: If you try to stop me now, I will have to break you.

"One more! J-Just…Just one more!" Alexander shouted.

Translation: One more pint of ale please.

The barkeep shrugged and gave them their pint of ale. Rose shook her head in disgust. It was fun at first but now this was getting out of hand.

Sparrow and Alexander clinked their pints together. As the two pints collided with each other, the shock of the collision rippled through their very bones, pushing them both of their chairs and onto the ground, where they lay still, passed out cold.

The game ended as a tie.

Rose lifted her hands in exasperation.

"Great! Just bloody brilliant!" She shouted.

Some of the patrons shouted their condolences. The rest were too drunk to care.

* * *

Well, I'm back for now. Decided that I haven't been spending a lot of time with this story as I have with my Mass Effect story. Oh well. I enjoyed the drunkenness. I hope you do to. Remember, it's all in good fun until someone gets hurt.

My sisters birthday tomorrow. Guess I'll have to get her something.

Wrote a review of Transformers: The Revenge of the Fallen on my blog. Check it out if you want. Till then, see you next time.


	6. Part 5: A Kiss for Good Luck

Disclaimer: I do not own the Fable universe or Lionhead studios.

_†_ _Part 5 ≈ A Kiss for Good Luck †_

"Thanks for doing this for me," Rose sighed as she walked down the street. "I didn't want to have to call Jeeves here all the way from the castle."

"It is my honor to aid you, my lady," Alexander told her gently, with a slight slur in his voice. Hefted over his broad shoulder, Sparrow drunkenly tried to ask the ground if it thought she was cute.

"I'm surprised, really," Rose told him. "I thought you were as drunk as my sister was. And yet you're walking fine."

"I can ignore the alcohol for the moment," Alexander replied as Sparrow tried counting the stars on the back of Fang, who trotted alongside them.

The morning was still far away now, the sky still dark except for the stars. The streets were empty save for the strange couple. Rose walking with her back straight and her blue dress giving her an angelic glow, while beside her trotted the wolf-hound named Fang, playfully nipping at a nearby fly. And Alexander, standing near 6 feet tall with a drunken girl feared by all tossed over his shoulder. It was a rather odd sight.

"May I ask where you intend to go when you leave Bowerstone?" Rose asked him, breaking the silence.

"I know not at the moment," Alexander replied, scratching the miniscule stubble of hair growing on his chin.

"No doubt on some other great adventure," Rose commented. "People say that you are the next great adventurer."

"I sincerely doubt that, my lady," Alexander laughed. "I am but a simple wanderer."

"Well, an adventurer is a man who wanders from place to place if you think about it," Rose said, smiling. "It just so happens that he finds things to do during that time."

"No," Alexander smiled. "A wanderer is man who journeys from place to place with no home to return to."

"Oh," Rose nearly exclaimed, at a loss for words. "What happened to your home?"

"It was burned down by bandits a while back," Alexander said, smiling.

"Oh! I'm sorry!" Rose flustered. She didn't intend for the conversation to go in this direction. "I brought up a bad memory! I apologize!"

"Do not worry about it, my lady," Alexander laughed. "It was a long time ago."

There was a period of awkward silence while Sparrow wondered if she should eat the ticks on the ground. They looked delicious apparently.

"What happened to your family?" Rose dared to ask.

"Dead, except for my sister," Alexander said. "They cut out her eyes instead."

"How terrible!" Rose brought a hand to her mouth, truly shocked by this.

"Yes, it was," Alexander said quietly, remembering the fire. That's all it was, his memory of the night. One long image of fire playing through his head. There was the occasional scream in the distance, the clash of metal, but mostly, it was the sound of fire playing in his head.

"I'm sorry," Rose apologized again. "I shouldn't have brought it up."

"It's alright, truly, my lady!" Alexander told her. "You didn't know."

More silence between them. Sparrow was finally snoring softly, as Fang licked her face clean. Rose furrowed her brow, uncertain of what to say next.

"Have you traveled far?" Rose asked, curious.

"Yes, I have, my lady," Alexander replied. "Further than you can possibly imagine, begging your pardon."

"Have you been to Knothole Island, by any chance?" Rose asked. "Where it is said they can control the weather?"

"I have been to a Knothole of sorts," Alexander replied. "Though, last I remembered, it was called Knothole Glade. Always raining, if I recall correctly. Beautiful place though, if you looked past it. The trees reached up towards the sky higher than you could see. In the distance, you could hear the waves breaking upon the rocks like the beating of your own heart, so faint you could barely hear it but when you could, it was so beautiful. Dangerous place, though. Infested with Balverines, bandits and trolls. Which was a perfect place for Scarlet Robe, the Balvarine slayer, to grow up in."

"Oh!" Rose exclaimed. "Was Scarlet Robe born there? I didn't know that! Wasn't she able to cut off a Balverine's head in one fell swoop?"

"Yes, she could," Alexander said, thinking back to his mother's smile as her spirit faded away to feed the Bronze Gate. He also thought of the mighty axe that now belonged to him.

"Amazing," Rose sighed. She looked at the ground traveling below her with each and every one of her steps. "I envy you."

"Me, my lady?" Alexander asked.

"Yes," Rose said, quietly. She gazed at the buildings around her. "I love Bowerstone. I've spent my entire life here. But…I've always wanted to explore the world. A childish fantasy of mine, I know. But it was always a yearning of mine to see distant places."

"Why don't you?" Alexander asked.

"Well…"Rose said, not sure what to say. "I have many responsibilities now. I have to watch the economy of the town and make sure nothing goes wrong. Keep the crime low; make sure the traders are happy. I have…many responsibilities now."

"Could these responsibilities of yours be completed by other people other than you?" Alexander asked. Rose looked at him and his bright blue eyes that seemed to glow in the dark. They bored straight into her soul, past her defenses and into the depths of her being. She looked away, becoming uncharacteristically shy and feeling suddenly naked.

"I…guess so," Rose stuttered. A feeling arose within her followed by questions. Why was she so shy, all of a sudden? This wasn't like her. She felt like a child again in front of this man. What was happening? It felt like everything that she held dear was being stripped away in front of her to reveal the simple truth.

_I'm…afraid_, Rose realized. _I'm afraid of this city. I've always been afraid. Since I was little on the streets. But I've always had to hide my fear. I was the older sister. I had to protect her. Be brave. But I'm still afraid. My fear keeps me here behind these walls._

_But that fear can also drive you forward, turning into bravery before you know it_. _You just need to take that first step,_ replied a voice that sounded just like Alexander's own.

Rose started and looked up. Alexander merely looked back at her with sympathetic eyes, the glow of his eyes having died down a bit now. Alexander smiled warmly at her before continuing to walk forward.

"A man once told me something that I have taken to heart," Alexander said, thinking back to the wise old man who was said to have the words 'your health is low' carved into his head. "He told me that your legs would take you wherever you heart wishes. All you need is the desire to actually take the dreaded first step."

Rose watched him walk away towards Fairfax Gardens, at a genuine loss for words. No one had ever told her something as simple as that before. She guessed that the mind tended to make things more complicated than it actually was. Suddenly her heart was filled with a warm, golden shine. The shine of hope. Something that she had not felt in a long time. Rose smiled at the thought and ran after Alexander.

"I don't think my legs can carry me far though," Rose said, sarcastically pouting her lips. "I'm just a poor, defenseless woman after all. I can't do _anything_ by myself."

"I disagree," Alexander said simply.

He blinked.

A sudden gust of wind blew down the street and kicked up Rose's dress, exposing her to the world. Shocked, Rose quickly shot her hands down, pressing the dress to her body until the freak wind died as suddenly as it began. Rose looked up at Alexander, who looked pleasantly amused.

"I think you have wonderful legs," Alexander finished. He paused. "And some nice underwear, if I might add."

Rose hadn't felt that embarrassed before in her life.

They finally reached the wondrous and glorious Fairfax Castle, its white marble walls shining even in the darkness of the night. Rose walked passed the guards, who cast a weary eye at the newcomer, carrying the snoring Sparrow on his shoulders. Still, they let him pass. He was, after all, a guest of the Lady Rose.

Alexander followed Rose as she walked up to the massive doors, which opened slowly to welcome the adoptive daughters of Lord Lucien back home. Alexander looked at the halls lined with ancient artifacts, the golden plated sigils covering the walls and the bright candles that lit up the rooms.

Alexander was unimpressed.

"Dear me!" Jeeves cried out when his eyes lay on Sparrow's still form wrapped on Alexander's shoulder. "What on earth happened?"

"Too much to drink again, Jeeves," Rose replied to him.

"You really must lighten up on the alcohol, Miss Sparrow!" Jeeves exclaimed.

"_Oi!"_ Sparrow exclaimed. _"I can be ash want as I drunk to be!"_

"I am sure you can, little miss," Alexander chuckled. He allowed Jeeves to take her from him and carry her up the nearby stairs. Alexander watched her until her limp form disappeared from view.

"Thank you again for doing this," Rose said graciously.

"It was my pleasure, my lady," Alexander bowed. "Now, if you will excuse me, I should be heading back."

"Oh!" Rose exclaimed. "Um…won't you stay the night?" She felt like a little girl again for some reason as she took a step forward.

"I really do not wish to impose, my lady," Alexander replied.

"I see," Rose said silently. "When will I see you again? I really would like that." She took another step forward.

"I would like that as well," Alexander agreed. "However, I will probably leave in the early morning. And I do not know when I will return."

"I see," Rose said, even quieter this time. "Back to your wanderings?" She stepped forward again, looking up at Alexander.

"I suppose so, my lady," Alexander smiled.

What happened next could have been attributed to the ale she drank that night or maybe it was due to the fact that she had felt a certain stirring of faith in her abilities that she had not felt in a long time. Whatever the reason, Rose gave Alexander a kiss. It was an intimate kiss, yet there was no romance in it. It wasn't a kiss driven from love. They had just met that day and had talked little. But in that small time they had, she had felt a distinct connection with this man. In such a short amount of time, he had filled her with hope, again. Hope of being able to leave this city and travel to the horizon.

And now, he was leaving. She might not see him ever again, though deep down, she felt that she would. So it did not make it a farewell kiss.

It was simple a kiss, conveying her wish that he be safe. It was a kiss for good luck.

They separated and stared into each other's eyes for a moment. Alexander inclined his head in a small bow. Rose smiled and unwrapped her arms from around his neck. Without a word, she turned around and glided up the stairs and out of sight.

Alexander found himself outside the castle, gazing at the stars and the taste of Rose's lips lingering on his own. Alexander smiled as he walked down the stairway. He groaned as he felt the alcohol still swirling around in his stomach, threatening to burst back out. Yes, with his Will, he could ignore the effects of the ale, but not for long.

_By Skorm's horns, how much did I drink?_ Alexander thought bitterly to himself.

"Too much to drink, _'ero_?" one of the guards asked him bitterly. Alexander recognized him as the idiot guard that had blocked off the entrance to Bowerstone. The one who couldn't tell when to pronounce his "H's." In other words, the annoying one. And now he was smiling smugly at him like he actually thought he was better than Alexander.

"Not anymore, good sir!" Alexander exclaimed happily and patted the guard's shoulder roughly. The moment Alexander touched the guard's shoulder, all the alcohol from his stomach and from within his system (all 21 pints of it) was sucked out of his body and was funneled straight into the guard's stomach. Alexander felt great at that moment, the ground suddenly level and no longer spinning. The guard did not. As Alexander skipped away, the guard suddenly puked his stomach contents onto the ground, which brought the Hero of Oakvale _endless_ joy.

_Once you knew the true properties of Will, you could accomplish any feat,_ Alexander thought to himself happily.

Later that night (or morning, as it technically was), Alexander found himself turning the corner, the dim lights of the Cow & Corset slowly dying from within. Town Square, they told him this area was called. Alexander gazed around at the unfamiliar buildings, the alien sights that filled his vision. He walked up the steps of the clock tower and continued looking at the city. The bridge, the stalls, the stores. All filled his head with memories of olden times. Some familiar and, oddly enough, some unfamiliar.

"It is all so different now," Alexander mused.

"Time changes all things," Theresa told him.

"You do not have to remind me of that," Alexander reminded her. "It is just…I was unprepared for how much has changed."

"I'm so sorry, Alex," Theresa said, her voice suddenly sad. Her head was bowed, her hood concealing her face. "If I could, I would have never resurrected you. But I had no other choice. I am…so sorry." Alexander gazed at her, eyes filled compassion. He walked up to her and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Sister, I know you," Alexander said softly. "You have always been the more…_thoughtful_ one. I trust your judgment. If you say I am needed, then that is good enough for me. Besides, if we were reversed, I probably would have done the same."

Theresa smiled as Alexander hugged her and as she hugged him back. They held each other for a minute before releasing. Theresa furrowed her brow.

"Something troubles you," Theresa stated. Alexander chuckled.

"Like a book," Alexander sighed. His smile faded. "My mind…it is…confused. My memories are…jumbled."

"How so?" Theresa asked.

"I remember things from my life before my death," Alexander said, rubbing his chin. "But…I also remember different things."

"Explain," Theresa said, as she began walking slowly towards a nearby alley.

"Events are just…different then I remember them," Alexander said, following her. "I remember protecting Orchard Farm from bandits. But at the same time, I remember burning it to the ground, their bodies littered on the ground. I remember letting old Twinblade live after I rescued you. But I also remember cutting off the giant's head."

"I don't remember being rescued," Theresa reminded him.

"Oh, shut it," Alexander told her. "I remember Whisper. I remember seeing her off when she boarded the ship back to Samarkand. But I also remember covering the ground of the Arena with her blood. I remember Thunder wasn't…particularly happy about that. I remember tossing the Sword of Aeons into the Void, denying the powers it held. But I also remember…killing you and claiming the sword for myself."

"That must be confusing for you," Theresa said.

"Imagine how confused I was when I went into the bandit camp, reached into my pocket looking for Avo's Tear and then pulling both Avo's Tear _and_ the Sword of Aeons out at the same time. Because apparently I was thinking I had one or the other _at the same time_," Alexander said, scratching his head. "Though, I did enjoy the look on the bandit's faces when I summoned them both."

"By the way, what _was_ that all about?" Theresa asked.

"Oh, I just felt like warming up my muscles for a bit," Alexander said. He paused. "So, what do you think, sister? Have I lost my mind?"

"I think you lost your mind around the time you completed the Arena again in nothing but your underwear," Theresa said.

"Oh yes! I remember! That was a particularly big hit with the ladies," Alexander said. He waited patiently for Theresa's answer.

"Scythe warned me this would happen," Theresa sighed.

"Did he now?" Alexander mused.

"I needed his help preparing the spell that resurrected you," Theresa told him. "He aided me but he wouldn't say why. He warned me that all of your memories would be forced into one mind."

"_All_ of my memories?" Alexander asked.

"You know how there are different worlds, correct?" Theresa asked.

"I do recall Maze mentioning something like that," Alexander replied. "He said that all human beings, heroes and civilians alike, all have to make thousands of different choices in life. These choices spawn thousands of alternate worlds than the one you are conscious of."

"Correct," Theresa said, gesturing with her finger. "For instance, a man may choose to cheat on his wife. However, in a different world, he chose _not_ to cheat on his wife. The bandit at Oakvale chose to cut out my eyes. But in another world, he chose_ not_ to do so. So in that other world, I can still see."

"I was wondering how you were able to walk around," Alexander chuckled.

"What Scythe told me was," Theresa continued. "That when an Archon died, all of their alternate selves from these different worlds would all form together into one being. All of their memories and experiences would combine into one body. This individual with the collective souls of his other selves would be…rather powerful, I suspect. Scythe wouldn't explain why this happened to only the Archons, but I have a feeling he knows the answer to that."

"Likes to keep secrets, that one," Alexander scoffed. "I guess he said he would wait and see how things play out before helping us out?"

"You guessed it," Theresa chuckled.

"I told you it was a waste of time," Alexander shrugged. "So, since we're descendents of the Archons, this will happen to us when we die."

"It already happened to you when you died, little brother," Theresa reminded him. "That is why you remember all sides of the same, singular event. You remember _all_ things from you alternate lives, including all evil things as well as good."

"No such thing, sister," Alexander smiled. "It is all a matter of perspective."

"Brother, be serious," Theresa warned him.

"I am, sister, I am," Alexander paused. They had walked up to a nearby fence, which allowed the duo to see the distant ocean. "So my memories are jumbled because I have a lot of them, is that right?"

"Precisely," Theresa said. "A lot of different memories all packed into one mind. The Archons were special in this way only. However, I don't really see why this is necessary. The Archon's were under a strict rule of Neutrality."

"Neutrality?" Alexander perked a hairless eyebrow.

"Archon's couldn't be held back by notions of morality," Theresa explained. "They had to act with the whole world in mind, not just individual people. Some choices they had to make would condemn thousands to death, but would ultimately save millions more. However, Scythe admitted, that this didn't work. With neutrality came extreme indifference. The Archon's began doing whatever they wanted when they wanted to, not caring for either the people or Albion. At least, in _this_ world they did."

"Well, the descendants are really keeping up that rule," Alexander crossed his arms. "Like this Sparrow girl and Rose."

"Sparrow and Rose," Theresa hummed to herself. "What irks me is that in some other world, Lucien did as I predicted he would do. In some other world, he tried to kill both Sparrow and Rose. The possibility that he would take them under his wing was…extremely remote."

"But it did happen, sister," Alexander replied. "And they love him. I could see it all over their faces."

"Which makes our job harder, though not impossible," Theresa said. "We have time. The Spire is not yet complete. Lucien is still in the middle of building it. It'll be many years before it is completed."

"The Spire," Alexander shook his head as he gazed at the distant shape. "I never would have thought an artifact of _that_ kind of power was still around."

"The many things built in the Old Kingdom were meant to last," Theresa said.

Alexander paused, glancing behind him slightly.

"What is it?" Theresa asked.

"I assume we are ignoring our eavesdropping guest because he is needed?" Alexander asked quietly, gesturing behind him.

"I was beginning to wonder if you even _sensed_ his presence," Theresa jested.

"It would be very hard not to," Alexander said.

Behind a crate, Roland the hapless bard held his breath as best he could. He had been following Alexander since he left Fairfax Castle. His bard instincts kept telling him that there was something odd about this character, from his disappearing weapons and his magic strength. How else would one explain that explosion? It had to have been magic, like the old tales said. And now, as he listened to the two talk, it made sense now.

_Alexander is _the_ Alexander! The Hero of Oakvale! The Jack-Slayer! Brought back to life!_ Roland thought excitedly as his heartbeat hard, nearly bursting from his chest. Curiosity had taken over by now and he wanted to listen for more. Roland peaked out from behind the crate.

The old woman stood in the moonlight alone.

Heart pumping, Roland looked around, trying to see where he went.

"Bard," came a voice from above him. "Up here, my friend."

Roland looked up and crouching on top of the crate, leaning forward until he was inches from Roland's face, was Alexander himself.

"Good evening!" Alexander smiled.

Roland squealed as he leapt backwards. But before he could make much noise, Alexander's hand shot forward and grabbed Roland's mouth, silencing him.

"It is the middle of the night, my friend! We must not wake the neighbors!" Alexander said, smiling and with a finger to his lips in a hushing movement.

"Good evening, Roland," Theresa said turning towards the scared man. "Have you been following us long?"

Roland mumbled something through Alexander's hands.

"Bard, it is polite to answer a ladies question when asked," Alexander reminded Roland.

"Chicken Chaser, you're grabbing his mouth. He can't speak," Theresa reminded him.

"Oh!" Alexander exclaimed. "I apologize!"

Alexander released Roland who fell to the ground, gasping for breath. Alexander sat down on the crate with one knee propped up to his chest. Theresa clasped her hands together, interlocking her fingers.

"I knew it! I _knew_ something was odd about you! You're the Hero of Oakvale!" Roland exclaimed.

"Please keep your voice down," Alexander reminded him.

"Roland, just tell us how much you heard," Theresa asked politely.

"Enough," Roland said. "Enough to know that _you_ resurrected the Hero of Oakvale! The Jack-Slayer!"

"Yes, yes, yes, I have all these titles, I get it," Alexander rolled his eyes.

"Just what are you doing here?" Roland asked.

"And why exactly should I tell you that?" Alexander asked.

"Well…" Roland gulped. "B-B-Because I'm a bard! Your tale would be worth singing about! People would want to hear it!"

"What makes you think I would want that?" Alexander asked playfully.

"Well…"Roland didn't know.

"Here is what I can do," Alexander licked his lips and grinned. "I could…just kill you right here, right now. You are the only one who knows who I am. What do you think about that?"

Roland felt like wetting himself again.

"Calm down, good bard," Theresa said. "My brother isn't going to kill anyone. In fact, I was expecting you."

"You…you were?" Roland said.

"Of course," Theresa said. "You have quite a large role to play in the future of Albion. As such, you shall be accompanying my brother on his quest."

"Wait, what?" Alexander exclaimed, clearly confused. "I am not anybody's babysitter. Do you remember all those traders that kept dying when I was escorting them to Orchard Farm?"

"You mean the ones you killed?" Theresa asked.

"I…do not recall that," Alexander said, feigning ignorance.

"Regardless, he is going with you," Theresa said firmly. "Right, Roland?"

"Yes!" Roland exclaimed, joy written across his face. "This…this is simply unbelievable! I'll be journeying with…the _Hero of Oakvale!"_

"Yes, you will be," Theresa said smiling. Alexander rolled his eyes.

"But…where exactly will we be going?" Roland asked.

"You explain," Alexander sighed. "You want him to come along, you have to explain why. I will be sleeping."

Theresa inclined her head in a brief nod and gestured Roland to follow her. Roland jogged towards her as they walked up to the nearby fence. Theresa stopped before the fence and pointed out into the horizon.

"Look," Theresa said softly, her milk-white eyes gazing at the distance. "Do you see?"

Roland followed her finger and saw what she was pointing at. In the distance, there was a dark shape rising from the ocean. It looked like a mountain but it had pieces sticking out at odd angles, like claws coming up from below. From its center, a bright blue light shot into the sky, pulsating at an unknown rhythm.

"Yes," Roland nodded. "That…shape in the distance. What is it?"

"It was known as the Spire back in the Old Kingdom," Theresa explained. "It is where Lucien is now."

"The Lord Lucien is…there?" Roland asked. "Why?"

"The Spire was an Old Kingdom artifact," Theresa continued. "When it was built and designed by the rulers of the Old Kingdom, the Archons, who, at the time, had become arrogant and corrupt, using the powers that their forefather, William Black, had taught them to terrorize the populace. They stretched out their reach to the farthest corners of the world, taking and taking to satisfy their unquenchable thirst for power. Eventually, though, they could reach out no further. So they built the Spire, a conduit for all the natural magic in the world. Funneling the will energy into one place, the Spire would have granted the Archons with power so great, they could bend reality to their will. On the day the Spire was completed, and the first wish made, a light bloomed inside. Though its nature…could not have been darker."

She was silent for a moment.

"What happened?" Roland asked.

"Albion shattered," Theresa said simply. "Centuries of civilizations were wiped out in mere moments, its people erased from existence. Some say this was the first wish; an end to a hollow and corrupt world and room for a purer one to take its place."

Silence now as Roland absorbed this.

"And Lucien is building the Spire again?" Roland asked.

"Yes," Theresa said. "And this is when things become…very complicated. Lucien wishes to use the Spire to gain a single wish, though what it is now is unclear."

"What do you mean?" Roland asked.

"At first, it seemed Lucien wanted to bring his family back to life," Theresa answered. "However…something has changed within him. Over the years…his presence has begun to completely change the passage of time. It is as if…the course of the future has begun to change erratically and at spontaneous intervals. I am no longer able to foresee and discern the future as well as before."

"Did old man Scythe say anything on the matter?" Alexander asked, peeking through one half-shut eye.

"He merely said that Lord Lucien Fairfax maybe more than he appears," Theresa said.

"Of course! Why would he be anything _but_ cryptically annoying?" Alexander exclaimed.

"Regardless, Lucien must be stopped," Theresa said. "But Lucien has in his possession the only person who can stop him."

"Who?" Roland asked.

"Lady Sparrow," Theresa said simply.

"Sparrow?!" Roland exclaimed, glancing behind him as if to expect she would be there.

"Yes," Theresa explained. "During the building of the Spire, Lucien had a vision that showed how he would be stopped by a descendent of the Archons themselves. A Hero would defeat him. This Hero is Sparrow. This complicates things since Sparrow is now under Lucien's wing, no pun intended. She is completely loyal to Lucien. Now you see why I had to resurrect my brother. We need his help to stop Lucien from activating the Spire."

"How?" Roland asked.

"And this, I need to listen to," Alexander said, jumping down from the crates.

"In order to activate the Spire's powers, the Archons needed three other Archons that were gifted with the three disciplines," Theresa continued. "These disciplines are the same that were passed down to the Heroes Guild; Strength, Will and Skill. These three Heroes hold the key to unlocking the powers of the Spire by possessing the gift of the three disciplines. Lucien is looking for them across Albion. However, these powers can unlock the power within the Fourth Hero."

"Our little bird?" Roland asked.

"Correct," Theresa said. "The Fourth Hero can channel their powers and find the weapon needed to stop Lucien once and for all. It was a fail-safe system developed by the Archons of old. Power hungry though they may have been, they were very cautious. That said, the Fourth Hero must be present to stop Lucien from using the Spire for…whatever he intends to do with it. But, first, we must find the Heroes of Strength, Will and Skill and protect them from Lucien."

"How?" Roland asked.

"Do you not know my sister has the eyes of a seer?" Alexander asked, chuckling.

"The Cards of Fate have shown me who they are," Theresa said as she pulled out the cards from her sleeve. She took a seat on the ground and, closing her eyes, she drew the first card.

"The Relic," Theresa announced. She studied the card for a moment then spoke her thoughts. "Though represented by a sword, the Relic is rarely interpreted as a literal weapon or a violent event. The emphasis on the hilt of the sword leads most card readers to see it as a reward, one that transcends the mundane of instant gratification, and yet has no intrinsic religious or spiritual meaning, It is that which the heart desires the most, perhaps that which it needs the most. And yet there is no escaping that it is a weapon, even if its blade is covered in silk. Even today, some people believe that there is a true relic hidden in the world."

"The Spire," Roland stated.

"Maybe," Alexander said.

She drew the second card.

"The Pilgrim," Theresa said. "Is the soul in search of spiritual truth and freedom. The white of the robes represents purity, while the red lining is sometimes seen as an expression of controlled anger. The open arms are a sign of both an open mind and a giving nature, though it is also interpreted at times as a desire for some unreachable goal. The branches that sprout in the background represent growth. Though a positive card overall, the Pilgrim stands on water, which indicates uncertainty and a need for salvation."

She drew the third card.

"The Mage," Theresa said. "Represents our struggle with knowledge and with the power it can bring. The desire for knowledge can be as all consuming as it can be destructive, and attaining such power is fraught with difficulties. Knowledge can be both liberating, and enslaving. It casts light but it brings shadows. It endows strength, but always comes at a high price. In centuries past, this card was most often associated with Will users from the Heroes' Guild."

Theresa drew the fourth card.

"The Thief," Theresa said. "Is the most mysterious and contradictory of figures. It is the synthesis of beauty and cruelty, vivacity and decay, the ephemeral and the eternal. The mirror represents vanity: the rose, hedonism. And the blood is the violence that binds them together. The Thief is age, which robs us of our strength and looks. It is death, which robs us of our life. It is the worst in all of us. It is what we must all fear."

"Charming," Roland muttered.

"The Pilgrim, the Mage and the Thief," Alexander mused. "The Three Heroes."

Theresa drew the fifth card.

"The Choice," Theresa said. "Choice is the overriding philosophy of Albion. From the moment of birth until the moment of death, each person must make innumerable choices, each one leading either down the path of light and hope, or the road to darkness and despair. But this card is usually reserved for the greatest of choices: those which will determine not just our fates, but the fate of the world too."

"What does that mean?" Roland asked.

"Many difficult choices lie ahead," Theresa explained. "However, none more difficult than the one Sparrow will have to make. This is her card."

Theresa drew the sixth card.

"Death," Theresa said. "It's interesting how the mere presence of one person can have a profound impact on the people around them. Especially when they are snatched away from them unexpectedly. However, you must see this as a positive card. It is a time of transformations and change as people discover many things that they may have overlooked about themselves. It is the end of one phase in life but can signify the start of a new one."

Silence again as Roland gulped.

"How lovely," Alexander sighed.

"That is all," Theresa finished.

"Well," Roland gulped. "This doesn't seem so hard! Just find the heroes and we're done! Right?"

"Sure thing, bard!" Alexander slapped his shoulder, nearly knocking Roland to the ground.

"The first hero is the Pilgrim," Theresa stated. "I have seen a vision of a holy ritual in Oakfield."

"Oakfield?" Alexander asked, suddenly interested. Theresa only paused for a brief moment.

"In Oakfield, you will find the Temple of Light," Theresa continued without answering his question. "A perfect place to find a Pilgrim with incredible strength, who will deliver salvation, though bittersweet. You should speak to the Abbot. Maybe he can tell you more."

"The Temple of Light, huh?" Alexander mused. "Whatever happened to Avo and Skorm?"

"The world grew tired of them," Theresa said simply.

"Oakfield is a long distance away," Roland commented. "It'll take nearly three days walk to get there. And we'll have to pass through the Rookridge Mountains, which is infested with bandits. It won't be an easy task."

"Easy for myself, I dare say!" Alexander boasted. "I once walked from Bowerstone to Oakvale barefoot and naked! I had to pass through Greatwood _and_ Darkwood! No easy feat considering the populations of wasps, hobbes, balverines, nymphs, bloody trolls and the occasional bandit horde."

Roland gaped at Alexander with a face full of horrified confusion.

"_Why?"_ Roland gasped.

"I do believe I may have been drunk at the time," Alexander said.

"Bard," Theresa spoke loudly. "Now is your last chance to turn back. After this, you cannot leave. Your life is greatly intertwined with my brothers."

Roland looked from Alexander to Theresa. Roland clenched his fists tightly.

"I won't run," Roland stated.

"Good on you, man!" Alexander exclaimed. He turned and began to walk away. "Then we leave when the sun peaks over the horizon. Bring food, clean clothes, plenty of water, and whatever else you want to bring. But be sure it is light! I do not wish to have to leave you behind!"

"Uh-w-wait!" Roland shouted after Alexander, chasing after him.

As Roland chased after Alexander, Theresa stared after them with her blind eyes.

_Good luck and be safe, littler brother,_ Theresa spoke into Alexander's mind. Alexander turned and gave her a brief smile.

_And you, sister,_ Alexander spoke back.

Theresa continued to smile as they disappeared behind the corner. Slowly, her smile faded and turned into a frown.

"Still as energetic as ever, I see," came a hushed, husky and hollow voice from behind her.

"Some things never change," Theresa answered the man. If he could still be called that.

"Everything changes," the man responded, stepping forward, his steps resounding down the alley like the booms of a clock's hand ticking away.

"What do you want, Scythe?" Theresa turned to face the man.

Standing before her could easily be considered a corpse. Drained of water, the man's skin was stretched back, forcing his mouth into a ceaseless grin and his muscles were withered beyond recognition. He was wrapped in a winter robe of blue with white fur lining his sleeves, the bottom of the robe and the neck lining. His entire body was wrapped in the robe except for his right arm, which revealed the golden armor, from his shoulders to his gauntlets. Strapped to his back was a reaper's scythe, it's golden blade shining brightly in the night. A blue bandanna of sorts was wrapped around his head.

"I am just seeing if you kept up your end of the…bargain," Scythe rasped slowly.

"I did," Theresa said roughly. "He knows nothing of your plans. You didn't have to check on me."

"Oh, but I do," Scythe's lips (if he had any) barely moved. "I am not…_gifted _with the prophetic powers that you have."

"Funny," Theresa smiled. "You are as strong as Jack was in his full form and yet even you have your limitations."

"Do not mock _me_, girl," Scythe shot at her. "Your arrogance is unfounded. It is because of your arrogance that we are in our current…predicament."

"You have _no _right to blame me," Theresa growled. "_Nothing_ went according to plan, you knew that. _That_ is why I brought back my brother! Albion would have been in peril if I had not acted!"

"You do not know that, girl," Scythe voice nearly grinded her bones. "Even _your_ prophecy's are not accurate."

"I knew enough," Theresa shot back. "It was the right thing to do."

"We shall see, girl," Scythe whispered. "We shall see. You still do not understand the ramifications of your actions. An Archon was brought back into the world of the living! The Shadow Court has awakened because of this and they move, festering the hearts of many. Your brother was the strongest of us. Without him, we can no longer hold back the terror of the Dark Void for long! We needed her to complete the Seal. We needed this…Sparrow. Now, we need them both."

"As far as I could tell I saved my brother!" Theresa rounded on Scythe. "Jack was holding his soul within the Dark Void, toying with him! His soul was battered and bruised, torn to shreds by the time I summoned it! I had to look throughout all of Albion, searching for the lost pieces! But I found them all. And here he is today. And you…_Archons_…did nothing!"

"You know the laws, girl!" Scythe nearly shouted through a rusted throat. "We cannot enter the Void! The power of the Court was too strong! The minute we stepped in, their world would have become a part of our world! We had to build up our power_ before_ we stepped in! Your brother would have provided us with enough power that we could enter the Void and not worry about blending the two worlds."

"You just…_stood…__**there!**_" Theresa shouted, tears almost coming to her eyes at the thought. "You just stood there! And let him suffer!"

"Believe my words," Scythe whispered, his voice gentler than before. "Many of the Archons wished to enter and rescue him, damning the world in the process. Whisper was the most notable one. But I did not come to argue with you, girl. Alexander must be ready to make difficult choices. Choices that he will certainly not like. The curse of the Archons, so to speak. Kill a thousand to save a million. Can he do that?"

"He can and he will," Theresa said simply and bitterly. "Though he will face great hardship, he will prevail. Because he must. I see dangerous and difficult times ahead. We all must make difficult choices. Even the bard, whose role seems so much greater than before. But in the end, he will prevail. Because he must. Fate _needs_ him to."

"Good," Scythe muttered. He turned and walked through the air and disappeared. Theresa stared after him, not seeing in more ways than one. Deep in thought, she gazed around at the buildings of Bowerstone.

She saw them in flames, shadows eating them all up.

Theresa sighed. A phrase occurred to her then. A phrase written by a bard, of sorts, in another world, an alternate world. A world vastly different from Albion. So different, that Theresa barely recognized it.

_By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes…_

It seemed adequate.

Theresa shook the thought away, though. Now was not the time for regrets. Now was the time for action. The story had just started and she had many things to do.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

Alexander gazed at the rising sun, leaning against the stone bridge that crossed a river. It followed a road out from the area known as Old Town. A ruined shambled place, really. Whores and drunkards slobbering all over the streets. The occasional child trying to make his way to wherever he was going. Women trying to get water to their homes without getting killed. A bloke actually tried to offer a job to kill some old man.

Alexander ran his fingers through his long hair. He had grown it a few minutes ago and already, he was feeling great. He had tied it up in a ponytail but a single lock of hair had stayed behind, dangling in front of his right eye. He didn't mind, though. He rather liked it.

"I'm here!" Roland coughed as he ran up to Alexander, his pack across his back. "Sorry it took so long! Some bloke tried to have me kill an old defenseless man! Can you believe it?"

"Yes," Alexander said. "You have everything you need?"

"Yes. I even brought a lute in case we needed…you know, entertainment," Roland said, gesturing to the instrument on his back. "You…grew your hair?"

"Ah, yes," Alexander said happily. "Grew it a few minutes ago. The powers of Will can be used for anything if you know how to, really! Need to blend in, too, though. A young bald man will attract attention!"

"You should probably grow some eyebrows, then," Roland noted.

"Ah! I _knew_ I forgot something!" Alexander exclaimed. He ran a finger across his brow and where he touched, hair began to sprout and grow. Soon, he had eyebrows. "Are you ready, bard?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," Roland commented.

Alexander smiled. Roland reminded him of a boy he once knew. Eager and young, head always in the clouds.

"Then let us depart," Alexander said. "We need to reach this place called 'Rookridge' by noon if we want good time."

Together, they walked side by side down the path. A near six-foot-tall resurrected hero and a young 20-something year old bard who didn't know many stories at all. And as the sun rose into the sky, the pair suddenly had a feeling that they would be journeying together for a long time. And secretly, they both enjoyed it very much.

* * *

Hey, I'm alive. Just finished a rather major section of my Mass Effect story so I thought I should spend time writing this story. I'll be writing two chapters before getting back to Mass Effect. I've had enough of it for now. And yes, I will explain why that happens to the Archons when they die. And Scythe's role. Just…later. Much, much later.

Ain't I a stinker? ;)

Also, this story is starting to be a lot funnier than I had envisioned it. That's not bad, actually. Far from it. So, I changed it to a Drama/Humor. That would make it a "dramedy," I think. So, there'll be funny moments and then there'll be serious moments.

Oh, and the line is from Shakespeare's _Macbeth._

Oh, and the "get as want as you drunk to be" line? It's actually a quote from a review from Takeshi Jecht. Kudos go to him. Or her, I don't really know what you guys are.

Started watching Metalocalypse. Its funny if you like watching that sort of thing I guess. I think its funny.

"Gentleman, it's clear that we are in a universally precarious situation. Dethklok has summoned a troll."

"That's impossible. There's no such thing as trolls."

"Then how do you explain the dead unicorns?"

Now imagine hearing that from someone who is dead serious. Doesn't that just crack you up? It did for me, at least.

Also, I'm starting to envision this story as a trilogy of sorts. We'll see if it grows or falls completely through.


	7. Part 6: A Lord's Return

Disclaimer: I do not own the Fable universe or Lionhead studios.

_†_ _Part 6 __≈ A Lord's Return †_

The day that Alexander and the Bard left Bowerstone for Oakfield turned into a rather eventful one. For in the afternoon, Lord Lucien returned to Castle Fairfax. Unexpectedly.

They had only received the news 10 minutes before he was expected to show up. Rose cursed under her breath as she rushed to change into more proper clothing. This wasn't the first time Father returned home unannounced. But she just wished he would just give some kind of warning ahead of time. There were many preparations that needed to be done to make the Castle worthy of his return.

Father was coming home.

Rose smiled in spite of her need to rush and she felt her heart flutter. Father was coming home.

And Sparrow was still hung over, she realized.

"Dammit!" Rose cursed as she rushed out of her room, fully dressed in clothing fit for any queen, if there were any still around. On her way out, she ran into Jeeves, their butler.

"My lady!" Jeeves exclaimed in surprise.

"We must wake my sister, and get her ready!" Rose ordered him. "I don't care how drunk she still is!"

"But my lady! Lord Lucien has arrived!" Jeeves told her hurriedly. "He is walking up to the doors as we speak!"

"_**Dammit!**_" Rose swore angrily. She sighed, took several deep breaths to calm herself down. She smoothed out her dress and her hair. "How do I look?"

"Stunning, my lady" Jeeves said with a warm smile.

"That bad?" Rose stated hopelessly.

"I have seen worse, my lady," Jeeves reassured her. "There is Sparrow, after all. She would rather shoot me then wear a dress."

Rose smiled at the thought. Then, with dignity and poise, she strode down the hallway towards the stairs. Sparrow would have to wait for now. She had to present herself to her father.

And standing down at the bottom of the stairs, he stood. Her father. Lord Lucien Fairfax.

He stood, regal and brilliant in a black suit with silver linings. From afar, he simply looked like a dark man, as the only thing bright about him was his white hair and pale skin. But he stood, pride and honor brimming from him. And as he stood, he simply gave an aura that made people listen to him and stand in awe of him. It worked on most people.

Rose merely smiled at him. All thoughts of regality and poise left her. She was now a little girl, wanting to be with the man who raised her.

"Father!" Rose exclaimed. Lucien gazed up slowly and when his eyes found Rose, he smiled.

"My darling daughter," Lucien said proudly. And like a hero returning home after a long adventure, he extended his arms wide. Rose rushed down the stairs and ran into his chest, wrapping her arms around his waist, breathing deeply his aroma.

"I missed you!" Rose exclaimed happily. "Don't spend so long away next time!"

"My dear, you know I don't mean to," Lucien reassured her, patting her head affectionately. "But what I'm doing is important."

"I know, father," Rose muttered. "But next time, when you're coming home, you should really call ahead of time! It wasn't easy getting everything in order with what little time you gave us!"

"I wanted it to be a surprise!" Lucien said defensively, putting her at arms length to examine her beauty.

"Well don't next time!" Rose ordered him. "I don't need the stress!" Lucien only shook his head and smiled.

"My, how you've grown," Lucien commented affectionately. "When I first took you in, you were such a shy bashful young lass. Now, you have the tongue of a snake, with just the right amount of bite. I am so proud of you."

Rose merely blushed.

"Let's walk," Lucien said as he began striding up the stairs, Rose walking beside him.

As they walked along the resolute walls of the castle, they talked of many things. The situation of Bowerstone, the crime rates, how the Merchant Guilds were faring. Most of the time, Lucien just listened while Rose spoke in great detail. Lucien would sometimes give advice as to how to deal with certain people but most of the time, he just listened.

Rose didn't mind at all. She just wanted to tell him everything. She couldn't explain it but she just wanted to tell him everything about herself since he had left. There was so much to tell and so little time. She didn't know when Lucien would leave again. But she planned on making the best of it. Even if that meant talking his ear off.

"What else," Rose thought. "Oh! We had an adventurer come by yesterday!"

"An adventurer? What do you mean?" Lucien asked.

"The people call him a Hero," Rose explained. "He showed up on the road, wanting access to Bowerstone. I had the entrance blocked off due to the bandits on the road. So, apparently, he went into the bandit camp and killed Thag, all by himself!"

Lucien was silent for a moment before responding. "Did he now?" was all he said.

"Yes, though I think the people exaggerate a little," Rose continued. "They said all kinds of things. He apparently used magic to blow them all away. But I could sense nothing from him when I talked with him, so it must have just been made up."

"You talked with him?" Lucien asked.

"Yes, just last night," Rose replied. "We had a…eventful evening. Some of it was spent talking, but mostly, Sparrow challenged him to a drinking game. They spent all night drinking twenty-some pints of who-knows-what. The rest of the night was spent dragging Sparrow from the Cow and Corset back to the Castle. The adventurer helped Sparrow back and we…chatted. But he left with the morning sun."

"What was his name?" Lucien asked.

"Alexander," Rose responded. Lucien's face was unreadable. "Why? Do you know him?"

"In a way," Lucien answered. Rose nodded slowly and allowed the subject to drop. She looked up and realized that while she was talking, Lucien had guided them towards the door of one room in particular.

_Sparrow's room_, Rose thought to herself. Bitterly.

"Father, Sparrow is still fast asleep from last nights…excursion," Rose said. "Perhaps you should let her sleep for now. There is much that needs to be done."

"Nonsense!" Lucien said happily. "I will wait for my daughter to awaken! We have something to discuss. In fact, it is the main reason for my return."

"Then I shall join you," Rose stated.

"No," Lucien told her flatly. "I'm afraid this is only between myself and your sister. And it pertains to our project in the west." Rose fought the urge to bite her lip.

"Father," Rose said, hiding her rage. "Why must I be kept in the dark? Have I not pleased you enough? I have been taking care of the affairs in Bowerstone, practically running this city for you. Do you not trust me?"

"Rose," Lucien said warmly. "You know that _that_ is as far from the truth as Samarkand. In you, I look for leadership and kindness. I put my complete trust in you and your abilities. But Sparrow has different abilities than you do, my dear. And it is her abilities that are needed in this."

"It would quiet my heart if you just told me what you two are planning, Father," Rose admitted.

"I know," Lucien said nodding. "And I hate keeping you in the dark. But nothing is certain. Especially the future. What I am doing is dangerous to those who know about it. The less who know about it, the safer it shall be."

"But Father-!" Rose protested.

"I shall say no more," Lucien commanded, bringing all further protests to a halt. "I shall see you this evening for dinner. Then we shall talk."

Lucien bent down and kissed her on the cheek, a little close to her lips. Rose felt an urge to…go further. An image of the kiss she gave Alexander flashed through her mind briefly. Warm and loving. Like her Father. She suppressed that feeling harshly.

"Until tonight then," Rose said aloud, hiding her feelings. "Father."

"Daughter," Lucien responded.

Rose watched as Lucien entered Sparrow's room and disappeared behind the large doors. Abandoned was how she felt, she realized. Jealous was another emotion she felt. But why? Why did she feel so jealous? Of her sister? Why didn't Lucien pay her any attention? It was always about Sparrow! Wasn't she good enough for him? Didn't she deserve his love? She just wished he would love her as much as he loved Sparrow! She wanted him to-

_To do what?_ Rose thought, realizing where that line of thought was leading. She gulped helplessly as she licked her lips, thinking shamefully about…

Rose quickly shook her head. What was wrong with her? He was her father! That was the worst form of taboo! Still, she couldn't help but feel…drawn to him. Shaking her head again, she rushed down the hallway, away from the doorway that led to Sparrow's room. She had to busy her mind. Keep those sickening thoughts away.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

Lucien sighed, glad to finally be rid of that annoying pest of a daughter. She had her uses, but she was too needy. She _needed_ to be loved: by him, by her sister, by the townspeople. That was a weakness to Lucien. Still, it was enjoyable to toy with her feelings, such as they were. Implant a sexual dream here, enhance certain thoughts and needs. Lucien was certain that Rose now needed more than his love. He smiled at the thought of future…activities, with his adoptive 'daughter.'

Sparrow was different. She didn't need to be loved. She was her own person, willing to do whatever she needed to do to remain independent. All she needed from Lucien was a target. Lucien smile deepened at the thought. Sparrow was his weapon, a tool for his goals. A rather fine looking one, he added.

Sparrow lay on her bed, blinds closed to the bright sun of the outside world. She had her pajamas on and it was clear that the servants cleaned her up a little before putting her in the bed. She was breathing silently, with her dog lying on her bed next to her. She always loved to stay close to the mutt.

Silently, so silent that even Fang couldn't sense him, Lucien glided over to Sparrow's side. Slowly, he leaned down to her bare neck and pushed aside a lock of her hair. Gently, he caressed his nose with her skin, breathing in her scent, her loveliness. He breathed in her youth.

His tongue ached for her skin, sliding out of his mouth and touching her skin. She mumbled something softly but didn't wake. He applied more pressure onto his tongue, gliding up her neck, leaving a slimy trail of saliva. He had marked her as his, for now and always.

Unconsciously, his hand moved up her body and-

"Always wanting more, eh, Lucien?" spoke an ancient, female voice from behind. Lucien snapped out his lust, his eyes flashing gold for a moment, before he leapt to his feet and stared at his visitor. Seeing who it was, he relaxed a little.

"That is how man evolves," Lucien said smugly. "You, of all people, should know this."

Theresa wasn't amused as she lounged in one of the many couches in the room. Her red hood covered her face as she studied Lucien. His silver white hair glistened in what little light shown into the room. Though Theresa couldn't see him, she could see enough of the future and present to know what he looked like. And he looked like pure evil.

"She's your daughter," Theresa reminded.

"Not really," Lucien said, placing his hands behind his back. "She's more like a adoptive daughter with benefits."

"Some people wouldn't call those benefits," Theresa told him. "I'd call it sick."

"Enough," Lucien sighed. "You didn't come here to jab at how I use my tools." Theresa said nothing as she stood up, brushing her dress.

"The Hero of Strength as revealed herself," Theresa announced.

"I know," Lucien said. "I just don't know where. And I assume you came here to give me that information."

"Oakfield," Theresa replied simply. "One of the monks working at the Temple of Light."

"I see," Lucien said nodding. He walked to the window and peered through the curtains. "Why did you tell me?"

Theresa said nothing.

"You haven't explained why you're assisting me," Lucien went on. "It can't just be because I assisted you in finding the pieces of that soul you were searching for ten years ago. You still haven't told me who it belongs to, by the way. So, why?"

Theresa merely smiled.

"All things come with time, Lucien Fairfax," Theresa said mystically. She turned around. "Until next we meet."

"You won't stop me, my blind friend," Lucien warned her. "I'll accomplish my plans with or without your help. Just like I told Garth."

"I don't doubt that," Theresa said. "However, do you even know which plans are truly, and purely yours and not…something else's?"

Lucien's eyes flared a shade of gold that Theresa had seen before. Gold that betrayed nothing, only a mind of emptiness. Theresa stared into those golden eyes and suspected that whatever was inside Lucien was peering out. Whatever it was. But as soon as the golden eyes flared, they disappeared, leaving only Lucien. It had hid from sight…until later.

Theresa blinked her milky, white eyes before turning back to the wall and disappearing from sight. Lucien knew she had left the room altogether, just as mysteriously as she had appeared. Without a word, Lucien pondered what she had said. He knew what she spoke of. Ever since Garth left, he had sense…a prickling at the back of his skull. Like a whisper he couldn't quite hear, but he knew someone was whispering nonetheless. Lucien couldn't help but feel a sense of…nothingness in the back of his skull. Always in the back of his mind, out of reach and out of thought.

Lucien stared that window for a moment longer. The he opened the curtains roughly.

"Who the 'ell!" Sparrow shouted. "Close the bloody curtains you-!"

"Good morning, daughter," Lucien said softly.

"Father!" Sparrow lost her tough attitude in a heartbeat, replacing it with that of a daughter. "You're home! When-!"

"Just a few minutes ago," Lucien answered.

"I…" Sparrow spoke hurriedly as she rushed out of bed and grabbed her robe. Fang merely yawned. "You should have written a message! I would have been better prepared-!"

"I won't be staying long," Lucien turned around and faced her nubile daughter with a smile. "I have an important task for you."

"Of course! Anything, Father!" Sparrow stammered. She was eager to please, due, in no small part, to mental manipulations. Lucien smiled as he placed his hands on her shoulders, rubbing them gently. Rubbing her youth.

"Would you like to go to Oakfield?" Lucien asked calmly.

* * *

Chronologically, this chapter should take place after Part 5. Why didn't I put it there? I lack any and all forms of foresight. So, if it's too confusing, just leave your feedback on my profile page, where I'll have a poll set up. It's no big deal so be honest. If it's too confusing, I'll do the old switcheroo and it'll be all set.

Sorry for the long wait, had a bunch of other stuff going on. Working on school, working on studying, working on my other FanFic, watching my dog be euthanized cause he's got cancer that forces him to not be able to walk on his own…yeah, a lot happened.


	8. Part 7: Bandits, Mountains and Bridges

Disclaimer: I do not own the Fable universe or Lionhead studios.

_†_ _Part 7 __≈ Bandits, Mountains and Bridges †_

Roland huddled behind a boulder while the rain poured down upon him like hail. He heard the gunfire behind him, but he dare not look. They had walked for most of the day, coming across little that interested them. However, they soon found themselves in front of a large hill. Covered by what seemed to him a thousand bandits. Fear made him hide instantly. That, and the gun's they fired at him. He didn't know where Alexander went, but he was sure he had heard him laugh before the shots rang.

And now, he sat with his hands covering his ears from the noise. His eyes shut tight, blocking the sight. He didn't want to die. It was as simple as that. Hadn't he wanted an adventure? Hadn't he wanted to get away from it all?

_It's always the same,_ Roland lamented as rocks and pebbles fell on him. _I always run and hide whenever something bad happens. It's all I'm good for. It's all I can do. But then again…what can I do?_

_Stand up_, a voice that sounded just like Alexander's resounded in his head.

For a brief moment, time seemed to slow down around him. The bullets dulled to thumps that could easily be mistaken for his own heartbeat.

_I can't,_ Roland responded. _They'll shoot me!_

_Do you know that for a fact?_ asked the voice.

_No, but it's likely to happen!_ exclaimed Roland to the voice.

_How would you feel if you told your friends how you had the guts to stand up against a horde of armed bandits?_ asked the voice.

…_pretty good, I guess,_ Roland responded quietly.

_Then stand up,_ commanded the voice.

_But I'm scared!_ exclaimed Roland.

_Is that a reason to stay on your arse, watching the world go by?_ asked the voice.

…_no…I guess not,_ Roland agreed.

_The fear will only root you to the ground as long as you let it do so,_ the voice said.

_...right,_ Roland agreed.

_Now, stand up,_ commanded the voice.

Taking a deep breath, Roland peeked out from behind the rock. The first thing he noticed was that there weren't a thousand bandits. Only about eight. Unfortunately, they were all pointing their guns at him.

"Finally decided to face your fate like a man, did ya?" said the bandit leader. He was distinguishable by the large flag strapped to his back.

"Big mistake, my friend," said another bandit beside him. "But ya should have seen yourself! Ye ran faster than a swallow could fly!" The bandit leader looked over at his mate.

"What do ye mean by that, Jimmy?" asked the bandit leader.

"What was that, Duke?" Jimmy responded.

"Well, what do you mean by that statement? It don't really fit the situation, don't ya think?" Duke answered.

"I dunno," Jimmy shrugged. "I was just sayin' that to make a…uh, what was it called…

"…a statement?"

"Yea, it was a 'descriptive statement.' I was only sayin' it to make a point really. I mean, did ya see how fast this bloke ran away?"

"Yea, yea, I sar him. I sar this bloke run away. But I'm just a little confused because…I dunno, I haven't…um…"

"Haven't what?"

"Now, hold on let me think…I ain't never seen a swallow before really."

"Really? Ya haven't?"

"No, I ain't seen one. I mean, I _read_ about 'em in the…the…book thingy's but I've never seen one. So, I'm just wonderin' if you've-"

"If I've seen one?"

"-Yea, yea, if you've seen one before."

"No, Duke, no I haven't seen one before. Ever."

"Well, then, that answers that question, don't it?

"Yea, I was just using the statement to show how fast he ran behind the boulder. I mean, it was faster than a swallow could carry a coconut."

Roland blinked at the exchange. He was sure that he could slip away easily but he was oddly…intrigued by the conversation. Plus, he was wondering where Alexander ran off to.

"Okay, now _that_ didn't make any sense at all because a swallow cannot carry a coconut! 'ave you seen the size of these things?"

"Have you?"

"Well…no, but I read my books!"

"I mean, the swallow could grip it by the husk of the coconut."

"It's not a question of where the bloody bird _grips_ the dang thing_._ It's a simple question of weight ratios! A five ounce bird could _not_ carry a one pound coconut!"

"Guys, what's a coconut?" asked one of the bandits nearby.

"Shut up, Lance!" Duke answered. "Listen, in order to maintain air-speed velocity, a swallow needs to beat its wings forty-three times every second, right."

"I'm not debating the air-speed velocity of a creature of the avian variety. I was just making another descriptive statement, is all," responded Jimmy.

"But am I right?"

"Well, yes, but it could be carried by a Samarkandian swallow. Those guys are big, really."

"Oh, yeah, a Samarkandian swallow, maybe, but not a _Albionon_ swallow. That's my point I'm…trying to get at…"

"Oh, yeah! I agree with that! No question about it! I was just making a descriptive statement again, you know?"

"Yea, yea, I know that, Jimmy, but I was just…ya know, _clarifying_ your statement for you…so you don't-"

"Oh! Wot if…"

"-make a fool of yourself, ya know?"

"Wot if two swallows carried it together!"

"Wot, you mean two together at the same time? They'd have to have it on a line!"

"Well, simple! They'd just use a strand of creeper!"

"What, held under the dorsal guiding feathers?"

"Well, why not?"

Roland just watched this entire exchange in mute disbelief. Honestly, he probably could have walked past all of them and been on his merry way. But something about their idiocy just…enthralled him. It was mesmerizing, the depth of their stupidity. Almost enchanting. Roland couldn't walk away if he wanted to.

"Look, can we discuss this later?" exclaimed Duke. "We have to kill this bloke first."

"Quite right," Jimmy nodded.

"Open fire!" shouted Duke.

At the same time, they all fired at Roland. Eight shots rang out in the air, spelling doom in the wind. Roland closed his eyes and flinched, waiting for the pain and death that was sure to follow. It didn't come. Slowly, Roland opened his eyes and looked up.

Duke slowly looked wide-eyed at the man who had wrapped an arm around his shoulder, whistling a tune to himself. The man was tossing eight bullets around in his hand, having caught all of them.

"My word, you are all _lousy_ shots, aren't you?" Alexander asked them.

Duke didn't answer so Alexander crushed his face with the Dollmaster's Mace.

Then, faster than Roland's eyes could pick up, Alexander appeared to have rushed to the side of Jimmy, leaving a trail of white light behind him and smashing the bronze mace across Jimmy's head. Another flash of light and Alexander was behind another bandit. Then another. Then another.

In a matter of seconds, all bandits were dead and Alexander was whistling as he waltzed down the hill, the mace fading away in his hand. Alexander paused a step or two away from Roland and ran his fingertips through his hair.

"Are you stupid or something?" Alexander asked bluntly.

"Wh-what?" Roland stuttered.

"Walking out there? When everyone had those blasted…what were they called…guns…pointed at you!" Alexander told him.

"You told me to stand up!" Roland protested.

"Yes, I did! But I did not mean for you to stand up _right then_!" exclaimed Alexander. "You could have gotten yourself killed!"

They argued for a while as the rain continued to fall.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

The moon shown brightly on the mountain road as the fire pit crackled. The rain and died down long enough for the duo to make a fire. Alexander let Roland make the fire, much to his chagrin. But now, the fire was raging nicely and they were cooking the meat that Alexander had found in the mountains.

In silence, Roland chewed on the meat he was given, eyes downcast and tired. They had marched on for most of the day, stopping for a break only once. And that was a measly minute before Alexander pressed them forward. The man hardly seemed tired at all! Even after the encounter with the bandits, he was still hopping around like a madman. Maybe it was because of his Archon blood, but Roland couldn't be sure. Regardless, Roland was envious of the Hero.

Alexander, meanwhile, was lying on his back, staring at what stars could be seen. He had finished his meal in a heartbeat and was now simply listening to the sound of the crackling fire beside him.

"Quite a day," Roland offered. The silence was maddening.

"It was fine, I suppose," Alexander shrugged.

"I guess you've had more interesting days then this one, huh?" Roland asked.

"A few," Alexander replied.

"Do you remember them all?" Roland asked.

"You heard my sister," Alexander told him. "You know what is going on in my head."

"Oh, right," Roland replied sheepishly. How could he have forgotten?

More silence.

"I wish I was like you," Roland admitted.

"What?" Alexander asked.

"Brave," Roland stated. "I couldn't even do anything when the bandits arrived. I just ran and hid. I'm a coward."

"Please do not be hard on yourself," Alexander told him. "You did not know what to do."

"That's why I wish to be like you!" Roland said. "I'm tired of running and hiding. I want to be able to _do_ something!"

"Listen," Alexander said. "Most people said they were brave but in reality, they were scared beyond belief. Being brave is merely knowing how to control your fear and using it to drive your actions. This cannot be taught. It is merely instinct. When put in enough situations, you will learn to control your fear and not let it control you."

Roland thought this through as Alexander returned to the stars. They haven't changed in 500 years.

"What's it like?" Roland asked.

"Sorry?" Alexander asked.

"Well, what's it like to come back to Albion after…500 years? Knowing that everyone you knew and loved was long dead. Some of the places you knew are gone or changed drastically. Stuff like that," Roland asked.

"You are quite a romantic bard, are you not?" Alexander chuckled. He thought for a moment. "Well…I will not say that I am not experiencing a tremendous amount of…shock. The clothes, the hair, the sights, the smells. They are all different then what I am used to. It is all…different. For instance, why must the women wear those ridiculous wigs?"

"Well, it's a sign of status, I suppose," Roland replied. "The taller the hair, the higher position they held."

"Well, back in _my_ day, you were either the Mayor, or you were not! Simple!" Alexander exclaimed. He laughed.

"I bet a lot of things back then were simpler," Roland said.

"Some of it was, I suppose," Alexander replied. "Back then, you did not bother with politics or stature. You did the duty you were assigned, receive a few gold, and you were happy. You treat everyone fairly, and you would be treated the same. But it was not always simple. I will not pretend that my time was better than this time. In that regard, some things never change."

"In what regard?" Roland asked.

"Mans capacity to do harm," Alexander replied. "To commit evil. It seemed to me that for every good deed I saw, someone else would balance it out with an act of evil. I remember…this one time. Bandits had kidnapped a handful of civilians from Bowerstone and I had to rescue them. A man named David was among them. Nice man, I thought. We had a few drinks later and had fun."

Alexander was looking into the distance, lost in the memory. Roland remained silent, patiently waiting for Alexander to continue.

"Much later, I decided to escort a prisoner to the Execution Tree up on Headman's Hill," Alexander continued. "Low and behold, it was David. He had gotten drunk and raped an eleven-year-old girl. Why I did not murder the bastard right then and there is beyond me. I was infuriated. Mainly at myself. 'If I had not rescued the man back then, an innocent girl would not have died,' I kept telling myself. But I did not know. I could not have known at the time."

"I'm sorry," Roland sympathized.

"Ah, do not worry about it," Alexander waved him away. "David got what was coming to him, in the end."

"I guess some things never change," Roland agreed. Alexander looked over at him and smiled.

"This was not the first time you started a fire, was it?" Alexander noted, gesturing to the fireplace.

"No, I had plenty of experience when I was younger," Roland nodded, lying down on his side. "It got pretty cold during the winters. Us orphans had to learn to start our own fires we wanted to survive."

"You were an orphan?" Alexander asked.

"Yes, living on the streets of Bowerstone," Roland said.

"What happened to your parents?" Alexander asked.

"Died before I could remember, I suppose," Roland shrugged. "As far as I could tell, I was always alone."

"That must have been hard," Alexander noted.

"A little, but I had friends who looked out for me," Roland said, staring into the fire. "A group of them, though their names escape me. Two of them _you_ actually know."

"Rose and Sparrow?" Alexander exclaimed.

"Yes," Roland smiled and nodded. "I'm probably one of the few that remembers them when they were a duo of street urchins."

"Did you get along with them?" Alexander asked.

"Rose was older than I was," Roland replied. "But Sparrow…we always played around. Pulling pranks and getting away with it. This one time, we ran up a door and knocked on the door. Then we ran away as fast as we could. But we didn't get away fast enough! So the man bursts from the house in his underwear, wielding a blunderbuss! So he starts shooting at us as we're trying to run away. But the man's daughter was outside washing the laundry, just minding her own business. The second the gun fired, his daughter yelps and nearly jumps right out of her skin, slips on the laundry and cracks her head on the ground! And the man is so mad he was red! He wants our hides but his daughter is on the ground unconscious. So he grabs his daughter's ankle and with the empty gun in his other hand, he starts chasing us while dragging his daughter after us!"

Alexander burst out laughing along with Roland who was near tears. The fire crackled by itself as the laughter died down.

"Sparrow…was such a sweet girl, really," Roland said, rubbing his eyes. "But, after she was taken in by Lucien, we haven't spoken. I doubt she remembers me at all."

"You never know what goes on in a woman's head," Alexander replied. "Or heart, for that matter."

"No, I guess not," Roland said. Slowly, his hand moved to his right arm, where a white kerchief was tied around. "But it was so long ago. It's likely she forgot her childhood altogether."

"Memories do not go away that easily," Alexander told him. "They stay with you for a long time. So, no, I do not think Sparrow has forgotten about you."

"Are you always this optimistic?" Roland asked.

"Always," Alexander smiled.

They smiled at each other and enjoyed the silence that followed. Alexander gazed around the camp and eyed Roland's lute.

"Are you proficient with that?" Alexander asked. Roland looked at his lute.

"Well enough, I suppose," Roland shrugged. "I know one or two songs."

"Let's hear one," Alexander stated.

Roland looked over at Alexander for a moment, then sighed and picked up the lute.

"I guarantee you, it will not sound pleasant," Roland stated.

"Music is music," Alexander replied. "Whether it sounds good or not." Alexander leaned back and gazed at the stars again. Roland thought for a moment of a song to play. Soon, the night air was filled with the music coming from the peaceful lute. Roland voice soon joined the lute and it was pleasant.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

"Arr, look!" the bandit shouted. "Another traveler! Want to get to Oakfield? You'll have to swim!"

"Yeah!" laughed the second bandit. "Jump!"

"Jump! Jump! Jump!" the first and second bandit shouted together.

"Dive!" the third bandit shouted.

"Have the bandits become dumber since last I was here?" Alexander asked.

Roland surveyed the bridge, or what was left of it. The bridge to Oakfield now had a massive hole in the center. Too large to jump across and too wide for them to climb on the sides. Just as the bandits had said, there was no way to cross. They would have to jump into the river below. A good hundred meter drop.

"What do you think, Alexander?" Roland asked. "I'm sure the fall would kill us if we jumped. I mean, kill_ me_, I'm sure _you_ would be fine."

Alexander paid him no attention. Instead, he glanced over the railing and spotted a beach by the river and a cave beyond. Oddly enough, there were pots and a fireplace on the beach, however there were several tracks on the sand. His keen eyes spotted them and knew them instantly.

Hobbes. Perfect.

"Mind the gap!" Alexander exclaimed.

"Mind the what?" Roland asked. He didn't receive an answer as he was pushed off the bridge and into the water a hundred meters below. Roland noticed he was suddenly headfirst falling with the wind rushing past his ears. Then he started screaming.

Alexander watched Roland splash into the water, knowing he would be alright. Then he walked away from the gap, briskly and with purpose. Stopping a few meters away, he pivoted on the ball of his foot and bent down on the ground, placing his fingers in front of him on the ground.

With a deep breath, he pushed off the ground and began sprinting towards the hole in the destroyed bridge, the wind rushing past him. Adrenaline filled him as he leapt into the air, across the hole and towards the other side, meeting the three rather surprised bandits with his mace, which was crafted long ago by the Dollmaster.

Roland sputtered as he crawled onto the beach, coughing up the nasty saltwater.

"Are you alright?" cried a man, helping him out of the water.

"Yes, I'm fine," Roland coughed. He breathed in deeply as he found his bearings. In front of him was a camp of sorts with a cave up the hill. He looked at the man standing beside him. "I'm Roland."

"Herman," the man replied.

"Well, Herman," Roland coughed. "What brings you out here?"

"Well…" Herman fidgeted. "My son Joey's gotten lost in the cave! I would go in there but, um…I'm a little scared to go in by myself."

"Well, looks like I'll be joining you then," Roland replied without hesitation. What choice did he have?

"By the way, what are you doing here?" Herman asked.

"That…_bastard!_" Roland exclaimed. "He pushed me right in! _**You bastard!"**_

"Oh good! You are well!" Alexander shouted back from the other side of the bridge. "Now you should make your way through that cave. Chances are that there is another way up to this level. Now hurry on! Chop chop!"

"Oh, you don't wanna go in there!" Herman exclaimed. "That place is infested with hobbes!"

Roland looked at Herman. He remembered what Alexander said to him the night before.

"_**You bastard!"**_ screamed Roland.

"Less yelling, more walking, now please!" Alexander shouted.

"You could at least come down here and help me!" Roland shouted.

"What?" Alexander asked.

"_**I said, you could at least come down here and help me!**_" Roland shouted again.

"Why? I'm already on the other side!" Alexander replied. "It'll be fine! They are not difficult to kill! Just a few whacks to the head and they'll be out like a baby! Trust me!"

"This coming from the man who pushed you in," Herman noted.

"Could I at least have a weapon?" Roland asked.

"What?" Alexander asked.

"_Could I at least have a weapon?_" Roland asked a little louder.

"What? I cannot hear you!" Alexander stated.

"_**Give me a blasted weapon!**_" Roland shouted.

"Ow! You do not have to yell!" Alexander said. "Fine, but do not lose it! Heads up!"

Roland saw Alexander rummage through his…whatever he was rummaging in. Alexander lifted up a weapon and threw it towards the beach. It spun like a disc through the air and implanted itself into the sand.

Roland stared at the weapon, eye twitching furiously.

It was a wooden stick.

"_**THAT'S NOT FUNNY!"**_ screamed Roland.

* * *

Obvious Monty Python reference there. I couldn't resist. Besides I'm not really sure if Albion has any coconuts in it at all. I mean, I've played the game a least three times already and I haven't seen a coconut in the game. At all. I don't know if you have but I haven't.

I've always had a habit of cutting off a chapter after 10 pages. What this meant was that two chapters could have gone together seamlessly but instead made the story longer (see my Mass Effect story for example). Recently, though, I wrote a chapter that was over 20 pages long. Now I can't stop.

Help me. My carpel tunnel aches. But. I. Can't. Stop! Writing!

I was originally going to have Roland sing one of German power metal band Blind Guardian's ballad/acoustic songs, but I convinced myself not to. It would have seen out of place, I guess. However, I may put it in a later chapter depending on your reactions to this idea.

Back to Mass Effect for a few chapters. But don't worry. This story is slowly starting to become _much_, much deeper than when I started. Seriously, when I started, all I had was a gimmick (Sparrow joining Lucien and Alexander coming back to life). That was it. Nothing else. Now, I'm getting into interdimensional stuff, the apocalypse and a possible trilogy for this story. We shall see what happens.


	9. Part 8: The Pain of the Warrior

Disclaimer: I do not own the Fable universe or Lionhead studios.

_†_ _Part 8 __≈ The Pain of the Warrior †_

Roland looked left and right, trying to get his eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness. He suddenly felt like the rocks were closing in around him and he began to feel faint-headed and found it almost difficult to breathe. But Roland took deep, slow breaths, calming himself down. He was just panicking a little. He knew what was coming ahead, but he felt…unprepared for it. Partially because he was forced into it. He was still a little sore about that.

"Are you sure your son is in here?" Roland asked his new companion, Herman.

"I'm sure," Herman said timidly, hunched and jumping at the slightest sound. "I took my eyes off him for a second and then off he went! Oh, I'm such a horrible father!"

"Don't worry," Roland placed his hand assuredly on his shoulder. "We'll find him and then we'll get out of this horrid place." Herman smiled sheepishly.

"You know the old tales about hobbes?" Herman asked. "The ones that say that they were really children? And that they were turned into Hobbes?" Roland kept his smile, though he had heard the tales.

"I'm sure they're just stories, mate," Roland reassured him. Though in all honesty, he didn't believe it himself. He was walking around with a man who was supposed pure myth who was said to have done deeds that no man could have done. It made him wonder how much of the old songs were true.

That's when he heard the coughing.

"Ack! Hack! Testing! Testing! Is this bloody thing working?" came a voice that sounded suspiciously like…

"Alexander?" Roland exclaimed. "Is that you? Where are you?"

"Look down at your hand, bard," the voice commanded. Roland did. And saw the oddest sight he had seen yet.

A mouth had grown on the old wooden stick.

"Hello!" the mouth exclaimed.

Roland screamed and dropped the stick on the ground.

"Ow! Watch it! Be a little more careful, bard! That hurt!" the wooden mouth continued to move along with the words.

"Alexander?!" Roland nearly screamed.

"What in blazes is that thing!?" Herman shouted.

"Keep your voices down, please," Alexander spoke again. "We do not want any unwelcome attention."

"Your stick is cursed!" Roland exclaimed.

"That is what many women have said," Alexander commented.

"How is this possible?" Roland asked roughly.

"Calm down, please," Alexander said. "The stick is just a conduit for me to talk to you. It will let me know where you are and such. And I will assist you when I need to. Now please, shall we continue? And also, please pick me up off of the ground. It is quite damp."

Roland paused and gulped. The wooden mouth was just…uncomfortable to look at. It protruded from the stick with its toothy grin. Was that a tongue waggling around behind the wooden teeth? Sighing, Roland reached down and picked up the stick.

"Good!" the mouth said excitedly. "Now, let us get through this cave shall we?"

"I…I just shouldn't ask any questions, should I?" Herman said nervously.

"Trust me, you'd just be more confused than I am," Roland reassured him.

Water droplets fell from the ceiling in rhythmic patterns, like heartbeats. Roland gulped and forced himself to walk forward into the dark abyss that lay before him. Herman followed, just as nervously. Alexander was humming a tune to himself gaily. Trying to ignore the wooden abomination, Roland squinted in the darkness, trying to find a path.

"So, Herman," Roland said cheerfully. "Where do you hail from?"

"Oh!" Herman jumped at the sound of Roland's voice. "Um, I come from Bowerstone, originally. But, after my wife died, bless her soul, I moved out to Oakfield with my son Joey. I just…needed to get away from it all, you know? The city was just so…crowded. Too many people."

"Yes, Bowerstone always was crowded," Roland agreed. "But that's what I liked about it. I was never bored. There was always something to do."

"I guess that's true, but I just needed to get away," Herman said. "Moved to Oakfield and became a farmer. The people were nice and all. Plus, it was especially close to the Temple of Light. Joey loves it there. The Monks and the Abbot are especially nice. Even that woman who goes by the name of Hammer."

"Hammer?" Roland asked.

"Sister Hannah," Herman explained. "A giantess of a woman, if I do say so myself. Though, not to her face. Has a temper, that one. Like my darling wife…"

"I'm sorry," Roland said sympathetically.

"It's okay," Herman shuddered. "I shouldn't have brought it up. Anyways, it's very peaceful in Oakfield. I swear it is the most golden place you will ever see. The weather is always just right and sea breeze is magnificent!"

"It sounds lovely," Roland said, smiling at the thought. "Truth be told, I've never seen golden fields before."

"Well, you're in for a treat!" Herman exclaimed. "When we get there, you will never want to leave!"

"We'll get there with your son Joey," Roland reassured him. "Don't wo-"

"Heads up," Alexander warned.

Too late. Roland's foot stepped in something wet, causing it to slip forward quickly. Roland grunted as he fell flat on his back with a thud, knocking the wind out of his lungs. His back instantly became wet as whatever liquid covered the ground entered his tunic.

"Roland! Are you okay?" Herman shouted into the darkness, his voice echoing.

"Please, sir, keep your voice down," Alexander shushed. "Bard? Are you all right?"

"I just got the wind knocked out of me," Roland pushed himself up and rubbed the back of his head. "Must have stepped in some mud."

"Sure, we will go with that," Alexander said after a moment.

"By the way, how can you see in the dark?" Roland asked.

"I am the Hero of Oakvale," Alexander answered simply.

"Right, I forgot," Roland sighed. "Well, can you do something about the lights? I'm afraid that I'm going to run into some Hobbes while I'm blind as a bat."

"Probably should have done that before," Alexander muttered. "Please hold on for a moment." In the dark, Roland could not have seen, but a pair of eyeballs had grown from the top of the stick. The eyelids rolled open and light blazed out of them.

Roland blinked as the light came on suddenly, revealing the room covered in blood and gore. He screamed as he tried to quickly get up, out of the puddle of red he was in. Too quickly. He slipped again and fell head first in the puddle again, his mouth filling up with the stuff. His foot caught some solid ground and he pushed himself away towards the wall. He huddled in the corner, shivering as the liquid dripped down from his hair and ears. Blood. It was someone's blood.

He heard Herman vomit and heave as his stomach contents fell onto the ground.

"Oh! No!" Herman yelled between retches. "I'm…I'm sorry. I've just…never seen something…this horrible."

"Sorry about that," Alexander said sympathetically. "I forgot how much of a shock blood is to some people. I am sorry."

"Then why did you show it to me?" Roland muttered angrily.

"The life of an adventurer is not always fun and games, bard," Alexander said. "Not like your tales."

"Is that why you sent me in here?" Roland accused.

"That is one of the reasons," Alexander admitted. "If you wish to travel with me, you must be used to the sight of death, for you will always be around it."

"I…understand," Roland said after a breath. "It's just…that was…_somebody_."

"Actually, it may have been more than one person, but I see your point," Alexander corrected. "Regardless, the only way to go is forward."

"How?" Roland pleaded for an answer. The blood was in the way. Everywhere.

"One step at a time," Alexander said simply. Always simply.

Roland took a deep breath and slowly stood up, using the rock wall as a guide. Slowly, he turned himself around (nearly retching at the blood again). Then he took a step forward. Step by step, he walked out of the room. After a few seconds, he walked back into the room, grabbed Herman by his arm and pulled him along.

"Sorry," Herman apologized. "You must think I'm pathetic."

"No," Roland said simply. "You're human. That is all." He didn't know it, but the mouth on the stick was smiling softly.

There was light at the end of the tunnel, apart from the one shining from the end of the stick. It was a warm, yellow light, almost like it was from a fire. Incessant chattering and squeaking could be heard from beyond the exit. Roland gulped and held the stick tightly, Herman coming up behind him.

"Relax, bard," Alexander said. "You are too tense."

"Forgive me if I don't trust a talking mouth on a stick," Roland muttered.

"Just relax," Alexander told him again.

When they entered the cave, the light from the stick dimmed and turned off. But they could still see the fire. And the creatures that surrounded it.

And Roland saw the Hobbes for the first time in his life.

There were five of them and they were absolutely grotesque creatures. Small with flat ears that protruded like horns. A fat little head atop a little body with no sign of a neck. Roland couldn't help but think that there was no way these creatures were ever human. They were all chattering to themselves in whatever language they spoke in, oblivious to the world around them. Some were chewing on…meat, cooking them over the fire. Roland didn't even dare think about where the meat came from.

"Are those-?" Herman began to ask. His foot, however, stepped on something soft. It shattered.

One of the Hobbes looked up and sniffed the air. It looked over its shoulder and stared at the two intruders. Roland held his breath as Herman gulped. For a moment that seemed as long as an eternity, the two humans held the gaze of the hobbe.

The hobbe jumped up and spun around, opening his mouth wide, revealing rows of razor sharp teeth that were decaying and yellow from years of wear. It screeched at the top of its lungs, alerting its comrades to the threat. Soon, all five Hobbes had stood up and were wadding towards them. In their hands were all sorts of weapons from axes to rifles.

"It would seem that these Hobbes know how to use those guns now," Alexander noted. Roland didn't notice how calm Alexander seemed. He was too busy panicking

"OmygoshomygoshwhatdoIdowhatdoIdowhatdoIdo!" Roland stood shaking in his boots. Herman was no better. He had decided that running around in circles was the best course of action.

Alexander sighed and the stick came alive, moving forward and thwacking Roland on the head. Roland blinked away the black specks that moved across his vision as he watched the wooden mouth moving in front of him.

"_**YOU BEAT THEM WITH THE STICK!**_" Alexander shouted. _**"NOW STEP FORWARD, BARD!**_"

That knocked Roland out of his stupor. Taking a deep breath, Roland gripped the stick and held it out in front of him. He wasn't sure what a stick would do against steel weapons but he had no other weapons. The Hobbes waddled up to him, wielding their weapons threateningly. Roland gulped.

"Watch them carefully," Alexander said, so softly that only Roland could hear. "Though they are small, they are very quick. But also very dumb. They will attack you but those arm muscles are too weak to wield those heavy weapons effectively, so the attack will come slow enough to dodge. That is when they leave themselves wide open. Now relax and wait." Roland nodded and did as he was told.

One of the Hobbes, a dark skinned one, jumped forward wielding his axe high above its head, screeching at the top of its lungs. Roland watched the axe come closer to him. It was at that moment that he was sure he was going to die. Die at the hands of a handful of Hobbes. Terror gripped him then.

"Move!" Alexander ordered him. With a jerk of his hand, the stick smacked Roland on the head again, causing him to bend down low. The Hobbes' axe imbedded itself harmlessly into the rock wall, causing the poor thing to dangle helplessly above the ground.

While Roland nursed his bruised forehead, another Hobbe, this one the largest of the five, hefted his hammer up and began to swing it around horizontally. Roland was too busy worrying about his forehead to worry about it. Alexander sighed again and then the stick smacked him across the chest multiple times, causing Roland to step back and welts to grow on his body. He yelped each and every time, while the hammer swung around, missing him by centimeters. The large Hobbes' eyes widened as the weight of the hammer threw him off balance.

"_**STOP HITTING ME!"**_ Roland yelled at the stick.

"_**THEN BEAT THEM WITH THE BLOODY STICK!**_" the stick yelled back.

Roland, angry at being yelled at, struck forward at the largest of the Hobbes', now off balanced by the weight of his own weapon. Roland screamed as he brought the stick down on the unsuspecting Hobbes' head. As the stick connected with the Hobbe, a line of blood was drawn. Slowly, Roland felt the stick slide down the length of the grotesque head. Soon, the head was split open like a watermelon, exposing whatever brains a Hobbe had to the world.

The largest Hobbe, now dead, fell over, spilling its blood on the ground. Roland stared at the stick with wonder and amazement. As did the other Hobbes, now growing fearful of the stick wielding human with strange clothing.

"I should let you know that the stick was the first weapon I ever wielded as a child," Alexander spoke through the mouth, now creepily covered in blood. "I kept it out for sentimental reasons. As I grew older, I added some…augmentations to it."

"You really could have told me about that before I entered the cave," Roland muttered.

"What, and spoil the surprise?" Alexander chuckled. "Now, I suggest you finish off the rest of this rabble before our friend Herman has a heart attack."

Roland nodded and gripped the stick tightly. He gazed at the other Hobbes and smiled slightly. He felt…empowered now. These little wretches were nothing. He could defeat them. He _would_ defeat them.

He first turned his attention to the poor hobbe still dangling above the ground, gripping its imbedded axe tightly. Roland struck it at the back of the head, feeling its skull crack underneath the pressure. He turned quickly and met the onslaught of one of the smaller Hobbes wielding a cleaver. It swung it around quickly and Roland reacted. He twisted his hand, causing the stick to intercept the swing halfway through its curve. The shock of the impact reverberated up his arm but the stick held.

"Nice block!" Alexander cheered. "Now counter!"

Roland screamed as he brought the stick around and swung. It collided with the Hobbes' cheek and instantly, his body burst into flames, much to both of their surprise. The poor Hobbe ran around, burning the fire.

"How?" Roland exclaimed.

"Remember, bard," Alexander said. "Every possibility that I could have made in my life put into one body, like my sister said."

"Are you saying that this stick has each and every possible augmentation placed on it?!" Roland shouted incredulously, jumping away from another Hobbes' cleaver. "How is that possible?"

"I have no idea, but so far, I do not care in the slightest!" Alexander exclaimed happily, laughing all the while. "This is probably the mot fun I ever had slaying Hobbes! I do not know what may happen to them! They could be sliced in half, receive burns, or be squished! Or they may get silver poisoning! This is just…so much fun!"

"Well I'm glad to see one of us is having fun!" Roland exclaimed as he slammed the stick forward, piercing into the Hobbes' eye and killing it.

The final Hobbe was aiming at the crazy man who enjoyed hitting himself with his own stick down a rifle. It screeched as it pulled the trigger. It missed pitifully. And then it went flying across the room as Roland thwacked him across the temple. Dead before it hit the ground.

Roland panted heavily as he recovered. His hands were beginning to shake uncontrollably. He tried to slow his breathing but it was difficult. The fight was…

"Exhilarating, is it not?" Alexander said. Roland only nodded. "Did you have fun? Please be honest." Roland thought for a moment.

"Yes," Roland admitted to himself.

"I thought my first battle was also exciting," Alexander said. "Then I remembered. The people I killed all had futures and they all had pasts. And now they have none. Death is the great ender of all things. These Hobbes, though inhuman, could have had families of their own. They could have been a family. And now, they are dead."

"So," Roland wiped the sweat from his brow. "What you are saying is that all life is special and should be respected. Even if you must take that life away."

"Did I say that? My, I must be smarter than I look!" Alexander exclaimed, laughter in his voice.

"Were…were those Hobbes!" Herman wailed, surprising Roland. He had forgotten about his companion. "Those…_horrid_ things? They, they couldn't really have been _children_! Could they? Oh, Joey!"

Roland walked up to him and placed his hands on Herman's shoulders.

"We'll find Joey," Roland reassured him. "Don't worry. We'll find him. I promise."

Herman sniffed and nodded. Roland patted his shoulder and began walking. There were a series of raised platforms that circled upwards towards an opening. Seeing no other way out of the room, Roland began to walk upwards with Herman following. Roland looked behind him, making sure that Herman was out of earshot. Then he whispered to Alexander through…the stick.

"Is it true?" Roland asked. "About Hobbes?"

For a moment, Alexander was silent. Roland gulped.

"Yes," Alexander admitted. "Hobbes are created when a Nymph eats a child's soul. I can sense a Nymph nearby but I am having difficulty tracking it down. They always were annoying little insects. Don't let it trouble you, bard. Just focus on getting out of there alive."

Roland gulped again and tightened his grip on the stick, now covered in blood. They reached the top and were treated to a sight of bowls and pottery stacked upon each other, lining the walls of the cave. From beyond, there came a blood-chilling wail.

"That's Joey!" Herman yelled, sprinting forward. _**"I'm coming, son!"**_

"Herman, wait!" Roland tried to stop him but his companion was a father. He would not listen to reason when his son was in danger. Roland cursed and ran forward.

The potter along the sides exploded and Hobbes burst out, attacking Roland.

"Outta my way!" Roland shouted, swinging the stick too and fro. Some heads burst open, some were lopped off. Others burst into flames. Yet another simply fell over, dead. None survived when Roland, with his wild swings, was upon them. A child was in danger. A child was in danger! He could hear his screams!

Roland ran down tunnel and found Herman trying to open a door. Roland joined him and grabbed a piece of the wood, pulling with all his might. But it wouldn't budge. And the wailing sound was growing louder.

"I think there's a tunnel back there that goes around!" Herman told him. "You take it and I'll stay and see if I can get it open from here!"

Roland nodded and ran back. He saw the tunnel that Herman was talking about and rushed forward. It was a tight fit, but Roland managed to squeeze through it with ease. He had no muscles after all, as well as no body fat. Roland found himself in a large, moist cave. Seeing another tunnel, he rushed towards it. The wailing was so loud. So loud!

"_**I've got it!"**_ Herman's shouts echoed throughout the tunnel. _**"Joey!"**_

The scream was almost inhuman. Roland pushed himself forward, running almost blindly down the tunnel.

Roland rounded a corner and saw…

"Joey!" Herman exclaimed, seeing his son's recognizable clothing. It was the same clothing his mother knit him when he was just a wee babe. Roland swore, his face couldn't have been happier. "It's Daddy! Joey, we're getting out of here!"

Little Joey would have answered. Little Joey would have turned around and hugged his darling father. Little Joey would have shown so much love that he would have burst at the seams.

But Little Joey was no more.

The Hobbe that was once Little Joey spun around and screeched, axe in hand. It stared evilly at his once-father with malicious contempt. The axe swung through, cutting a wicked line through the air. Herman screamed as the axe cut deep into his side, spilling blood over his once-child's hand. Herman continued to scream as he fell to the ground and as the Hobbe that was once Little Joey jumped on top of him, preparing to swing the axe into its once-father's body. Multiple times.

Roland could only stare at the sight in horror, tears beginning to swell in his eyes. Alexander said nothing. Roland walked up to the little Hobbe with its blue suspenders, red blood over its features. And Roland didn't know what to do.

The Hobbe to the newcomer and bared its razor-sharp teeth.

Roland ended its life.

Herman gurgled and sputtered as his lungs began to fill up. His hand was shaking uncontrollably, so Roland took it within his own trembling hand.

"I…" Herman hacked. "I always told him that those stories were just made up."

Roland didn't know what to say.

"_**They were true,**_" Herman forced out before he died.

Roland's mouth was agape as he surveyed the scene before him. He shuddered as tears began to fall from his eyes and down his cheeks.

"Roland," Alexander finally spoke. "We must move on. There is nothing more you can do."

"_I…I promised him…_" Roland voice was hoarse and cracked. "_I…said I would find his son_."

"Now is not the time to dwell on it, Roland," Alexander told him firmly. "More Hobbes are on their way and they will overwhelm you if you stay there."

"_**I PROMISED HIM!**_" Roland screamed and sobbed at the same time.

"And you will die if you don't get out of there," Alexander told him.

Roland knew that he was right. He was always right. Roland gulped and stood up. He could hear the cries and screams of the Hobbes filling the cave. Roland gripped the stick tightly and ran forward. All he could do was run.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

Along the cliffs of Rookridge, the nymph flew gaily through the air, laughing and giggling all the while. What a splendid day! Her children were all thriving brilliantly. They even had a new brother to play with! But life in those awful caves was not suitable for her children. On no. She dreamed of expanding her operation to these beaches and cliffs. Maybe into one of the abandoned houses to start with. Sooner or later, though, maybe they could have their own village! Maybe-

A hand shot into the air and grabbed the glowing nymph, gripping it tightly.

"There you are!" Alexander exclaimed. "I have been searching all over for you!"

"Let me go, human! Before I bite your bloody hands off!" the nymph screeched in a high-pitched voice.

"You will find that quite impossible, my little glowing bugger," Alexander said simply. There was a small flash of light and a platinum gauntlet covered his hand. Old as she was, the nymph recognized the metal as having come from the Platinum Trolls. That made it the strongest metal in the world, by her reckoning. That meant that this human was…

"Alexander the Jack-Slayer," the nymph said. "I heard you were dead."

"Not anymore," Alexander answered. "I'm surprised you heard of me."

"I'm much older than I look, my dear," the nymph replied, squirming in the vice-like grip. "I remember when continued to kill my sisters while escorting those pathetic traders to that farm."

"Your sisters could have let me by without a fuss," Alexander stated.

"They were young and naïve," the nymph sighed. "And now, I am the only one left alive."

"Are you now?" Alexander said. That was news to him.

"Quite," the nymph said, genuinely saddened by it. "The only one of my kind left on this world. Not that my children need me anymore. They are plentiful enough to breed some more of their own kind without my help."

"Still hungry I see," Alexander noted.

"Always," the nymph smiled wickedly. "I know what you think of my kind and I understand. But I have never eaten to excess! Only to survive! Surely you can understand that! You have no reason to kill me!"

Alexander stared at the puny little glowing nymph.

"On that note, you are wrong," Alexander said. "Regardless of whether or not you are only doing this to survive, I cannot allow you to harm anyone else. I am sorry that you are the last of your kind. Truly, I am. But I cannot let you go knowing you will continue to kill innocent children."

The nymph only smiled. She was old enough to know when she was going to die. She sighed.

"I guess this is the fabled Law of Neutrality the Archons are famous for, huh?" the nymph said. "For every good deed they do, the world balances out an evil deed. For every evil deed they commit, the world balances out a good one. So tell me, which one do you think this is? A good one? Surely I will no longer kill anymore-innocent children. But is this not also an evil deed? I am the last of my kind in this world. And isn't all life special?"

Alexander squeezed and the nymph popped.

After the deed was done, Alexander blinked away the rain that had begun to pour down. He stared at his hand, now covered in the blood of the nymph. The rain was slowly washing it away, but…the memory of it stayed with him. A question dawned on him.

What was the point now?

Hearing another presence behind him, Alexander turned and saw Roland behind him. He was disheveled and dirty. The stick was held limp in his hand. Alexander walked up to him and gently took the wooden stick from him. He held it up and it faded away. Back into the pocket.

"Thank you for returning it," Alexander said.

"I promised him," Roland whispered. "I promised."

"I know you did," Alexander said sympathetically.

"Why did you send me in there?" Roland asked. He wasn't angry. He was too tired for anger.

"I wanted to see what your limit was," Alexander explained. "Every hero needs to know where their limit is. That way, they know when they've gone beyond it."

"And Herman?" Roland asked.

"I am not my sister," Alexander said. "I could not have foreseen his end. And I am sorry."

Yet another incident where a good deed was balanced by an evil deed.

"I'm so weak," Roland said sadly.

"So was I," Alexander said. "The question you should be asking yourself is this. Do you want to get stronger?"

"Why?" Roland asked.

"Because if you do," Alexander said simply. "Then you already understand one of the things that made us heroes."

"Your desire to be stronger?" Roland asked.

"Yes," Alexander said. "We were always selfish people. We were so like mercenaries. We only took the jobs that interested us. Whether they were helping people or killing people, it didn't matter. But we were still heroes _because_ we wanted to do these things that no one else wanted to. No one else wanted to rescue a child from a cave full of Hobbes. No one else wanted to escort traders through Darkwood. We did. We wanted to prove to the world how strong we were. And we wanted to be stronger than everyone else. So tell me, bard, do you want to be stronger?"

Roland's knees shook and gave way. His exhaustion took over and he fell forward. As he did, he muttered one word.

"Yes."

Roland fell asleep on Alexander's shoulder, whom merely smiled. He picked up the bard and hefted him over his shoulder. Whistling a merry tune to himself, he began walking up the path.

By the time the sun set on the third day from the cobbles of Bowerstone, they had reached the golden fields of Oakfield.

* * *

Wow. It's been a while huh? The last time I updated this fic was…August? Something like that. Sorry about that, I was working on a rather large section in my Mass Effect story. Now that that story arc is over, I'll be working on this some.

One thing I noticed is that it's hard to go from an extremely serious story to a light-hearted one. Took me a few attempts to get this chapter back to the way it was. Hope it worked.

Merry Christmas to those who celebrate it. Happy Hanukah to the others who celebrate it. And for everyone else…well, Happy Holidays regardless of whether you celebrate it or not.


	10. Part 9: Fields of Gold

† _Part 9 __≈ Fields of Gold †_

Roland felt terrible. His muscles were sore, he was sure he was still covered in mud and he his body simply ached with the rhythm of his own heartbeat. Roland wasn't even sure where he was or even if he was still alive. He was sure Alexander was still alive because, well, you simply couldn't kill that man. At least, Roland believed so. Having said that, he felt…oddly comfortable. Like he was resting on some of the loveliest pillows in all of Albion…

"Morning, love!" the woman cooed. Roland slowly and painfully opened his eyelids. He looked up at the woman he was laying on. A rather sweet-faced farm-wife smiled back at him.

"Gurd morging," Roland mumbled as he slowly pushed himself up with his left arm while his right hand brushed away the sand from his eyes. Yawning again, he looked up at the farm-wife. Tiredly and still not aware of where he was, he smiled. "You have very comfortable pillows, miss."

"I should hope so," the woman replied coyly. "These pillows fed eight children when they were all just wee lads and lasses."

Roland blinked, unsure of what she was talking about. His eyes slowly slid down from her face and to her…pillows. Her large, supple…pillows.

His cheeks began to glow a deep red.

"Love, as much as I do enjoy your hand being there and all. It tickles me in all the right places," the woman giggled as she moved her thighs and arms, stretching them. "But I have milk to churn. So can you please remove it from my treasure box?"

"Your…treasure box?" Roland asked.

"Oh, it's very much a treasure box," the woman giggled again. "If you know the right way to open it, the treasure found within can be most…exhilarating."

Roland blinked in blank confusion. He looked down to where his left hand was currently pressing down on. On her…treasure box.

Roland's eyes leapt from his sockets.

Outside, Alexander heard a woman-like shriek from the village. Hefting the axe over his shoulder, he smiled.

"Well, I guess the lad's awake," Alexander noted. He whistled as he turned away and continued on his work.

"Madam! I-I-I-I-I'm terribly sorry!" Roland stuttered as he backed away towards the door. The woman coyly chuckled as she fixed her shirt, which had been made askew when Roland leapt out of the bed.

"Don't worry, young man!" the busty-woman said smoothly. "I rather enjoyed the touch of another man. My husband barely looks at me anymore!"

"Your husband? Oh, this can't be happening!" Roland nearly cried out, trying to make sense of it all.

"I said don't worry about it," the woman said again, rearranging the covers. "Your friend took him outside and helped him out in the farm a few hours ago. He asked me to look after you. In more ways than one, I might add. I gladly accepted. You're a cute little button." She giggled and Roland grew red.

"So," Roland said, scratching the back of his head. "My friend went out?"

"You mean that hunk of a man? Yes, he's helping my husband out on the farm," the woman sighed. "The two of you walked into town early yesterday morning. You were slung over his shoulder while passed out. There was a lot of blood on you, but we couldn't find any wounds. My husband and I suggested the two of you stay here for the time being, to which your friend was royally grateful. He was also grateful for the grab on his bottom I gave him."

"Lovely," Roland sighed. "So I've been out for around a day and a half?"

"Sounds about right, yeah," the woman nodded. "I have been…taking care of you." She licked her lips thoughtfully. Roland gulped. The woman looked down and smiled.

"Aw, it's okay little fellow!" she cooed. "Come on out and play! Don't be shy!"

Roland furrowed his eyebrows, confused. He looked down and saw what she was referring to. For he realized that he was completely naked. And realizing what was…'being shy,' Roland felt like he would die from embarrassment.

"It's cold," Roland muttered, covering his crotch, growing redder and redder with each passing moment.

"You sure?" the woman asked, smiling as she leaned back seductively. A strap of her clothing slid down her shoulder, exposing more of her…pillows. Her eyes trailed up and down his body. "To me it's getting…a little hot."

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

"You did that on purpose," Roland said coldly as he rested his head on the fencepost.

"Everyone has needs, bard," Alexander said wiping sweat from his brow. "That woman had not a decent man within her for who knows how long and you looked like you needed to…release some stress."

"Fantastic," Roland muttered. "Now I'm not only sore from killing those Hobbes but I'm sore from all those positions that woman put me through."

"How many times did she want you?" Alexander asked leaning on the axe the farmer gave him.

"I lost count after ten," Roland admitted. He looked over at the shirtless hero, chest glistening with sweat.

"That certainly gives me some…ideas," Alexander stated with a smile. He looked over at the crowd of ladies watching him work. He winked and the crowed swooned affectionately.

"Seriously," Roland noted. "One track mind."

"I have been dead for almost 500 years," Alexander protested. "I am simply _aching_-!"

"I don't need to know, Alex," Roland interrupted with a groan.

"You are a bard!" Alexander said with a grunt as he brought the axe down, cleaving the log in two. "You must detail these things and pass them on to the future generations."

"I don't think the young impressionable children need to know about the hero's prowess in bed," Roland told him. "Their mothers might take offence to that."

"They are going to learn about the birds and the bees sooner or later," Alexander told him. "I say it be sooner rather than later. Makes for less awkward first times and unsure fumblings behind farmhouses. And premature e-"

"That may be true, but you are not their parent," Roland pointed out. "In the end, the _parent_ has final say on that matter."

"Well, some of their parents might very well be my grandchildren so I should get _some_ say," Alexander noted, cleaving another log in half. Roland lifted his head slightly.

"That's a…disturbing thought," Roland stated simply. Alexander wiped sweat from his brow and looked thoughtful.

"Come to think of it, _you_ might be my grandchild," Alexander noted. "In fact, that Sparrow girl could be my grandchild. The possibilities are _endless_."

"Just…how many women did you sleep with back in your day?" Roland dared asked. Alexander thought for a moment.

"You know how sailors have a woman at every port, city or town?" Alexander asked. Roland nodded. "I had around 50 at every port, city or town, if memory serves. That said, we both know how twisted my memory is at the moment. Part of me remembers being faithful to only one woman. Another remembers me taking a vow of celibacy. And the list goes on."

"Lovely, I'll be sure to tell all the ladies how experienced you are," Roland said, gesturing to the women stealing glances at Alexander.

"Oh, I think they know," Alexander said with a smile, waving at the women. Again, they swooned. Roland watched the ladies as they chatted about…whatever women chatted about when the topic was of a muscular man.

_They're not even that pretty, to be honest,_ Roland thought to himself. Only one woman kept popping into his mind. A girl he had known since he was a child and now seemed so far away. A certain girl named after a bird…

A hard thwack to the head by the flat-edge of an axe brought Roland out of his thoughts. And into the now familiar realm of pain.

"What the hell was that for!?" Roland screamed, rubbing his head, sure he was feeling blood.

"Your turn," Alexander told him. He tossed the axe into Roland's weak hands, which grasped the wooden handle limply. "Chop up some wood, would you?"

"Me?" Roland asked incredulously.

"Yes, time to build up the muscle you lack," Alexander nodded. "It is easy. Just lift the axe and swing down onto the log. Make sure it goes down the middle. Makes it easier to cut in half."

"O-Okay," Roland said, gulping. He walked over to the stump where Alexander placed another log vertically on its flat surface. With a smile, he guided Roland to behind the log, showing him the best way to approach the log. Roland gulped.

"Relax, it is easy," Alexander assured him as he moved away, giving Roland space. "Just bring the axe down on the log."

Roland took a deep breath and stared at the log. He brought the axe forward and gently placed the blade down on the top of the log. He took a deep breath and brought the axe up and proceeded to slam it down onto the log. Not good enough. The log guided the blade down the side, causing it to miss completely.

He tore the axe out of the stump and tried again. The second time, it bounced harmlessly off the log. The third time, he swung the axe too high and loss balance, crashing into the ground. The fourth time, the axe penetrated the log but didn't cut all the way through. The fifth time, the axe slipped out of his hand and straight towards Alexander's head. He merely caught it with one hand. The ladies swooned again.

"Well, I would be lying if I said I was not finding this humorous," Alexander said with a chuckle.

"I'm weak, I know," Roland sighed. He stared at the harmless log. "It mocks me."

"Even a weakling such as you could break that mocking log," Alexander told him. "You just need to know how."

"And what is the secret to defeating this dreaded enemy of mine?" Roland asked sarcastically. Alexander walked over to Roland and leaned down to his face.

"Focus," Alexander told him. "Focus only on what you want to do. Focus on what you need to do to get what you want. Your mind is too spread out. Your thinking about your aching body, about the axe, about the log, the ladies watching, how I am watching. Think only about what you need to do. Split that infernal log in half." Alexander handed him the axe and took a step back.

Roland looked at him for a moment, and then turned back to the log. He breathed in and then out, closing his eyes. Roland opened his eyes again and focused on the log. Focus. Focus. Focus.

The world around him seemed to bleed away as he stared intently on the log. The world around him did not seem to matter. It was just he and log. The axe was just a tool, an extension of his body, of his self. He knew what he needed to do.

Taking a deep breath, he brought the axe up and struck it down into the log. The blade cleaved into the log, splitting it perfectly in half. Roland stared wide-eyed as the two halves disappeared from the top of the stump. He turned to Alexander, who merely smiled.

"Keep it up, bard," Alexander told him. "We may just make you into a decent adventurer yet. Now, I need to speak to the Abbott. See what is going on there. I may take all day so do not wait up for me. I may be…distracted." He smiled at the ladies who (again) swooned. Roland shook his head and picked up another log, placing it on the stump. Then a thought struck him.

"Alex," Roland called, who turned to look at him. "If I may be your grandchild, and Sparrow might be your grandchild, wouldn't also stand to reason that any of these ladies might be your grandchild?"

Alexander stared at Roland, a chuckle coming from his lungs. Then he furrowed his brow as he thought about it a little more. Then his eyes widened in horror. And then he was sad.

"Thank you, Roland," Alexander sighed. "Now I may never have sex. Again."

The ladies couldn't hear Roland's question but they heard Alexander's response. And they were not pleased. Every lady present turned a murderous gaze at Roland, who merely pretended they weren't there. It would work, for a while.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

The wind blew through the golden fields of Oakfield and toyed with Alexander's brown ponytail and bang. He smiled as he took a deep breath, breathing in the purity and light that seemed to emanate from the land. It reminded him so much of Oakvale, his hometown. The babbling brook of the nearby mill, the sound of a distant waterfall. All these sights and sounds reminded him of his childhood, before…

He didn't think about that. What was done was done. He could only move forward. Still, he could not help but reminisce of the distant past. Of such an innocent childhood that was taken from him. Regret was not part of his character; daydreaming was.

"It is so much like our home, is it not?" Alexander whispered aloud.

_Yet it is not,_ Theresa spoke into his mind. _Looks can be deceiving._

_Always straight to business, sister,_ Alexander sighed. _Can't I just enjoy the view for a little while?_

_Time is against us, brother,_ Theresa reminded him. _It is best we do this quickly._

_Fine, fine,_ Alexander sighed, walking past the Sandgoose, the local inn and tavern. _I was so sure they had an actual live Sandgoose. You have no idea how long I searched for one. Ah, well._

In silence, he walked on for a moment, admiring the view around him.

_You still have not told me what happened to Oakvale,_ Alexander pointed out. Silence answered him.

_It's you see for yourself_, Theresa said finally, in a tone that was not quite happy nor was it sad. _All I will tell you is that most of the people moved here. The people around you are the descendants of Oakvale, our home._

_Fine, but I want an answer soon,_ Alexander told her.

The Temple of Light was a rather shiny place, with a nearby waterfall reflecting the light from the sun. In other words, it lived up to its name as the temple devoted to the Light. Alexander wasn't entirely sure if this was a good thing or not. The people of the world seemed to trade one god for another. Personally, he stuck with the Old Gods of Avo and Skorm.

'_The Light' is too vague. Avo and Skorm both have faces,_ Alexander thought to himself. As he neared the door into the Temple, he heard raised voices. He slowed his pace to listen.

"Father! The Sacred Texts are clear! Only two monks may enter the cave! No one else!" One of the monks was pleading to the Abbot of the temple.

"I will _not_ send my only child into unknown danger without any protection! My decision is final, Brother Timothy!" the Abbot all but raised his voice. Timothy could only lower his head and nod.

"If this is a bad time, I could come back later," Alexander said clearing his throat. The group nearly jumped at the sound of his voice.

"No, I'm sorry, it is quite all right," the Abbot said. He then squinted his old eyes, rubbing his beard thoughtfully. Then he spoke sharply. "Brothers! Leave us!"

The monks acquiesced, though grudgingly. Alexander even heard one call him a 'heathen.' He wanted to twist his smug head off right then and there, but he needed to gain the Abbot's favor. That was the only reason.

"Let me take a look at you…" the Abbot's voice trailed off as he looked up and down Alexander's body. He wasn't sure if he should flex or smack the man in the face. It's only been 500 years; how could he completely forget how to interact with people?

"Should I spin around for you?" Alexander asked, growing uncomfortable under his scrutiny.

"What? Oh, I'm sorry," the Abbot said. "I was just noting your strength. Quite imposing. It just so happens that I am in need of some…muscle, as it were. And…no, no I really shouldn't say anymore until I'm sure."

Alexander stifled a sigh. This old man was becoming increasingly annoying. Maybe it was because of his senility. He wasn't sure. But he knew if he didn't get to the point sooner or later, he would probably just smack him and be done with it.

"As it were, I am in need of a strong adventurer such as yourself," the Abbot continued. "I heard of your exploits from the guard. However, I…well, suffice it to say, I don't trust you enough with a matter this important. You are a stranger in this village, after all."

"And I thank you very much for your hospitality," Alexander said bowing his head. "I understand your predicament. However, after talking around the town, I understand you have a bandit problem in Rookridge. Especially one concerning a bridge developed by an entrepreneur. I will take care of it and then we will talk. Does that sound fair?"

"Why, yes it does," the Abbot agreed, a smile brightening his face.

Alexander continued his brisk walk with a smile on his face and tune from his lips. He enjoyed everything about the town of Oakfield.

_You could have manipulated his mind, you know,_ Theresa noted. _Made it so that he would send you without question._

_True, but things are more interesting this way_, Alexander replied. _Plus, I feel a need to take care of those troublesome bandits. I will not let what happened to Oakvale happen here._

_But this isn't Oakvale, brother,_ Theresa reminded him.

Alexander didn't know how to respond.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

"Another traveler boys!"

The rain beat upon the dark, hooded figure, who stood at the end of the collapsed bridge, overlooking the raging river below. The figure's face was darkened from sight and the figure's features were well concealed. The figure merely stood across the way from the bandits. The figure said not a word.

"Sorry, friend! You're gonna haffta jump if you wanna get across!" he said with a cackle.

"Like the other one!" the second said with a laugh.

"But didn't the other one kill the-" the third one questioned.

"Shut it!"

The hooded figure was not impressed. Raising one hand, the figure began to swirl gloved fingers around in a circle. The eyes glowed blood red as Will power flowed into the figure.

Slowly, the wind surrounding the three poor bandits began to swirl and churn,  
picking up speed. With a snap of the figure's fingers, the wind became a tornado reaching high into the raining heavens. Screaming, the bandits tried to hold onto the ground for dear life. This was pointless, however. The figure had them in the power of Will. The tornado carried them in the space between the edges of the broken bridge.

Taking the Red Dragon, the figure shot a bandit in the head. With the Maelstrom, the figure decapitated a bandit that flew close to its deadly blade. For the last, the rage of the tornado was enough to tear him limb from limb.

The wind died and pieces fell to the water below, contaminating it. The figure said nothing. Merely jumped into the water below, intent on getting to the other side.

* * *

Been awhile. Sorry. Got side-tracked.

Hard to get back into this but I think I did pretty well. Finals coming up here at college. Sucks.

Re-arranged the chapter order a little. Should make more sense now.


	11. Part 10: What's Left to Gain?

Disclaimer: I do not own the Fable universe or Lionhead studios.

_†_ _Part 10 __≈ What's Left to Gain?†_

"Do you know why they call me Dash?" the bothersome bandit yelled. "I'm the fastest bandit there is!"

"How unimaginative," Alexander groaned. He forgot how tedious killing bandits had become in the last years. They would always pop out of nowhere, yell a few threats about how they were going to kill you and such, and then proceed to get their heads smashed in by Alexander's weapon. One would think that they would learn after the first few deaths.

But now they had…_guns_. The word still felt foreign to him. Loud and smelly things, they lacked the grace and beauty of the bow. They're only point in life, it seemed, was to kill human beings. Surprisingly not as accurate as the bow, he found, as he stood in front of a throng of bandits, all firing their weapons. And they were all missing pathetically. Alexander sighed. It was times like these that made him miss the Chieftain of Knothole Glade. The man knew how to fight and earned his place as the leader of the Fist Fighters Gang. And the man knew how to challenge those seeking one.

What was he doing? Oh, right. Killing these bandits. He had almost forgotten.

From the pocket, a crossbow appeared within his hands. It was not an overly beautiful crossbow, like some of the master crossbows he had known when he was alive the first time. But, as with all the weapons he held within the pocket, this one had a rich and vivid history. It was said that after the Massacre of Olagan (an event that he doubted anyone in Albion knew about), Arken was left for dead among the rest of his fallen comrades at arms, their army slain by a surprise attack. Arken, in fury and rage, picked up several pieces that were scattered across the bloodstained field and fashioned this very crossbow. He then used it to kill each and every last one of the ambushers. He died when the last ambusher took his last breath.

Alexander smiled. He never did get to meet him in death. So many different heroes he never got to meet when he finally died. Nostro, Ralf, Murren, Wellow, the Dollmaster, Arken, Elda and Essa, Orkon, Solcius, Delfe, Holdr, Wheldon, even Palgan, who tried to steal his sister's prophetic sight. So many friends he wanted to meet as well: Whisper, Thunder, Weaver, Briar Rose, even Twinblade. And Scarlet Robe, his mother. So many people he was robbed the opportunity to meet. By Jack. By the Shadow Court.

But where was he? Ah yes.

He cast a simple spell and the crossbow began to glow. Alexander smirked as he pulled the glowing arrow back. He took aim and pulled the trigger. Instead of one arrow, thousands of arrows fired, creating a glowing blue web of light as these ghostly will-formed arrows found their targets, creating pincushions of them all.

He looked around at the carnage. And a strange feeling came over him. He felt…bored. But now wasn't the time to dwell on it.

"Now, where, by Avo's left nostril, is that blasted bandit?" Alexander asked the air as he looked around. Sure enough, the man was gone.

Outside, Dash breathed loudly, heaving his chest with each breath he took. A smile broke across his twisted lips. He would survive yet again, leaving his enemies in his wake. He laughed a cracked and hoarse laugh as he ran. Now, he just needed to run to his hiding place and he would be-

"Are you done running or should I wait for you to grow some genitalia?" Alexander asked, bored by the bandit's attempts to flee. He sat on a nearby rock, watching Dash's ascent. Dash tripped and fell face first into the mud, with the rain still pouring around him. Sputtering and spitting out the filthy water, Dash looked up with surprise written all across his face.

"H-H-H-H-_**How!**_ I left you out in the dust! You should be miles behind me!" Dash exclaimed in shock and disbelief.

"And yet, here I sit," Alexander replied. All the joy he had when he came back into this world was now gone from his voice. This little bandit bored him. "Now, are you going to stop running?" Dash coughed as he stood up, brushing the mud off his knees.

"You got lucky," Dash rasped. "But I'm the-!"

"-the fastest man in Albion, yes, I heard you yell the firs time," Alexander sighed. "Hear me, can I just kill you already? It is rather important that I gain the Abbotts trust."

"Oh, you'll just kill me? Just like that? Because some old bugger told you to?" Dash asked, a hint of fear in his voice. "A man like you, with the power to kill my entire entourage of bandits with one attack, taking orders from a simpering old man, too weak to carry his own burdens?"

"I do this because I must," Alexander answered. "I hardly think a man such as yourself would understand. There is more here at stake than you know."

"Well, I don't know about that much," Dash said folding his arms and taking a slight step back. "But I do know that I believe I am a free man. Born free, and I shall die free. That's all the reason I have for doing this. I always did the things I did because I wanted to. I was free. Are you?"

Alexander didn't answer. He stared at the bandit for a moment longer. Then he fired a bolt of lightning at the man's chest, stopping his heart. There was a full second before the fastest bandit in Albion fell to the ground, dead. But that did not stop the questions that forced their way into his mind.

He had been dead for 500 years. So much had changed. The world was so different the world he grew up defending. And now, a new threat had arisen. A threat that could destroy the land he loved. But…was this his job? This wasn't his time. This wasn't his place. He was supposed to be dead. Some other hero was supposed to take up his mantle. But now he could no longer hide from the question that he had always been asking himself.

Is this what he truly wanted to be doing?

Sighing, Alexander stood up and walked to Dash's burnt body, still twitching from the lightning. He bent down and grabbed his goggles from his body. He assumed the Abbott wanted evidence of Dash's death so these would have to do.

Eyes looking up suddenly, Alexander stood straight and looked over his shoulder. Nothing but the rain. Odd. Alexander was sure he had felt something…

Then he was sure. She was following him.

"Do you mind telling me what is going on?" Alexander whispered, too softly for her to hear.

_She has followed you,_ Theresa's voice said in his head. _Isn't that obvious?_

"You knew she would?" Alexander asked warily.

_I counted on it,_ Theresa replied. _Despite being our enemy, her prescence sends ripples everywhere, affecting everyone's life. She will follow you into Oakfield and you must let her. She must be there when the time comes._

"Why?" Alexander asked. "What will she do?"

_You have to trust me, little brother,_ Theresa stated. _This is for the best._

Alexander said nothing for a moment, pondering what she said. She was being…elusive. Nothing new. But Alexander sensed a…hesitation in her demeanor. Something was bothering her greatly. Something…

Sighing because there was nothing he could do, he walked in the rain. His mind was filled with questions that couldn't be answered. Not now at least. In a way, he dreaded the answers. For sometimes, nothing hurts deeper than the cold hard truth.

So he walked on into the pouring rain.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

Sparrow crouched in the mud behind the rock and tree. Through the cowl of her cloak and through the foliage of nearby vegetation, she spied her prey. Beside her, Fang sunk low to the ground, teeth bared and dripping. Sparrow grabbed his mane and held onto him, restraining him without a word. Her brown eyes were afire with hate and indignation.

Alexander was the one who killed Thag, just as she had always known. He had played the simple, unassuming traveler, like one of those gypsies. And he had fooled her.

Her face contorted into a wolfish snarl, reminiscent of Fang. He would not survive. She would make sure of it.

"Come, Fang," Sparrow whispered as Alexander disappeared over the next hill. "Blood will be spilled tonight."

She stood up slowly and began to follow Alexander into Oakfield.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

"_**No one sleeps with my wife and lives! Get back here!"**_ the farmer yelled, waving his blunderbuss in the air.

"_**I keep telling you, sir, she came onto me!"**_ Roland screamed, running as fast as his legs could carry him.

"_**I let you rest in **_**my**_** home and this is how you repay me?"**_ the farmer yelled, running after him.

"_**In my defense, you were out farming while your wife was taking care of my wounds!"**_ Roland yelled over his shoulder, pleading for respite. _**"I was simply repaying the favor!"**_

The farmer fired, spraying bullet pellets in multiple directions. Roland fell to the mud onto his face as the pellets zipped past his head. He quickly rolled back onto his feet and continued running.

"_**Okay, that didn't come out right!"**_ Roland yelled apologetically.

"_**I'm gonna kill you!"**_ the farmer yelled. Roland gritted his teeth in frustration.

"Ah, screw it," Roland muttered to himself as he ran. He knew nothing he said would calm the man down. So, with venom in his voice, he called over his shoulder. _**"Maybe if you didn't spend so much time plowing your light-blasted fields and more time plowing your wife, this wouldn't have happened!"**_

That really ticked him off. To put it lightly.

Roland had been caught chopping wood, so he had his shirt off, sweat glistening off his body. Over the course of the day, he had managed to grow some muscles, though they were thin now. Still, the ladies made some catcalls towards him. He wasn't entirely sure if he should be disheartened by the vanity of women or delighted by their notice. So, Roland continued running, past the farmers of Oakfield and past the Sandgoose. The people parted ways, some ducking from the bullets.

Soon, he found himself on the road that led out of Oakfield. He had nowhere to hide and nowhere to run. But on he ran. The fear of death was a good motivator.

Roland's foot collided with a rock and he fell into the dirt road, his mouth filling up with sand. He lifted his head and spat out all the sand before turning around. The angry farmer was on him.

"Nowhere to run now," the farmer breathed angrily, the blood vessels in his eyes clear as day. There was a vein pumping furiously on his temple.

"You know, you should really get that blood vessel looked at. It might pop and-" Roland stalled.

"_**Shut up! I'm gonna kill you!"**_ the farmer screamed, aiming his blunderbuss at Roland. Roland quickly shut his eyes and prepared for the worst.

It didn't come. Roland opened his eyes. The farmer stood there staring intently at the sky, drool rolling down his face. Roland looked behind him.

"Trouble with the ladies, bard?" Alexander asked with a smile. Roland smiled and sighed, shaking his head.

"More or less," Roland said standing up. He looked at the farmer. "The woman's husband."

"I figured," Alexander said, glancing over his shoulder for a moment before approaching the comatose farmer. Roland stared at the man, his vacant eyes staring at the sky and the blunderbuss lying on the ground.

"What did you do to him?" Roland asked.

"Will can have a strong influence on the weak-minded," Alexander said, arms crossed and nose high in the air. Roland looked at Alexander.

"Have I heard that somewhere?" Roland asked. Alexander thought for a moment.

"No, I do not think so," Alexander replied.

"Oh. Well, I just thought that because…whatever, it doesn't matter," Roland said shaking his head. "Did you kill that bandit?"

"Who? Dash? Yes no problem," Alexander said. "I've brought his goggles as proof. Now, should we go see the Abbott?"

"You just going to leave him here?" Roland asked.

"Oh! I almost forgot," Alexander said as he walked up to the farmer. He lifted his hands up in front of the farmers face. For once, his eyes focused on his hands. "You're going down a tunnel. You turn left!"

Alexander moved his hands left and the farmer's head followed it.

"You keep walking down it. You turn right!"

Alexander moved his hands right and the farmer's head followed it.

"You keep walking, keep walking, keep walking keep wal- _**Brick wall!**_"

"_**Ah!"**_ the farmer screamed, turned around and fled, arms flailing above his head.

"When he stops running, he will forget all about you," Alexander said, dusting off his hands. Roland shook his head.

"Was that really necessary?" Roland asked.

"Probably not, but it was still hilarious," Alexander said. "Now, come along bard. There are things we must do!"

"Hey! Wait!" Roland pleaded as he rushed to catch up with him.

Alexander walked briskly, his ponytail flowing in the wind, eyes stern as he pondered his sister's sudden ambiguity. She always did like to talk in riddles, mostly to toy with him, but this time it was different. She wasn't toying with him; she was deliberately keeping him in the dark about something. But what? And that question still nagged at him.

Should he still care?

"Alexander?" Roland spoke up, breaking Alexander's thought. Alexander turned and looked at the bard with blue eyes. "Are you all right? You seem…quiet."

For a moment, Alexander studied Roland. In the short time he had known him, he had changed, becoming stronger. He was well on the road to become…

He smiled.

"I am fine, Roland," Alexander said. "Thank you." He turned around and continued walking.

Roland cocked his head in confusion. He had never heard him call him by his name before. It sounded…odd. Roland shook his head and followed Alexander up the hill to the Temple of Light. As he walked into the building, Alexander motioned for Roland to stay outside.

"So, you took care of the bandit problem did you?" the old Abbot asked with a clear voice. "That would make Barnum very happy."

"Who?" Alexander asked.

"Oh, that's me!" a man shouted as he rushed inside. "I was the bloke who bought the deed to that bridge! I was going to put up a toll and make loads of money in a betwazzling short amount of time!"

"Be- what?" Alexander asked, cocking his head sideways.

"But, eh, it turns out the deeds to the bridge weren't actually genuine," Barnum said as he rubbed his neck nervously. "So the whole toll thing isn't going to work out quite as plannified."

"Planni..." Roland said, scratching his head as he peeked in from outside.

"But don't worry!" Barnum yelled.

"I am not. I do not even know you," Alexander stated.

"I will bounce back! I always do! I will make millions with my next enterprise!" Barnum declared. "I will accomplish my dreams of becoming a successful zillionaire! _**Away!"**_

And with that, Barnum ran out of the Temple of Light, hand held high in the air, finger pointing towards the sun-filled horizon. Roland stared after him, unsure of what just happened.

"What an odd fellow," Alexander stated.

"_**Was any of that even English?"**_ Roland screamed, grabbing his head. "_**As a man of poetry and English, as a bard and singer of great tales, his butchery of the English language make me so mad!"**_

"Calm down, bard," Alexander called.

"Ugh…I'm going to go cut some more wood," Roland groaned.

"Is that a euphemism?" Alexander asked.

"_**I'm not going to have sex with the farmer's wife again! I am going to cut wood!"**_ Roland yelled as he stormed away.

"Do not go too far," Alexander called after him. He turned to the Abbott, who looked back through grey eyes and a smile on his face.

"Walk with me," the Abbot stated and began to walk out of the door and into the setting sun. Alexander scoffed as he followed.

"You know," Alexander chuckled. "I almost expected a reward for this."

"And you received it," the Abbot replied. "Just not the kind you were looking for."

"If I were any other person, I would probably be frustrated with you," Alexander noted. "Most people would not be keen on risking life and limb and not receiving anything from it." The Abbot smiled.

"Do you like good stories, sir?" the Abbot asked.

"Of course," Alexander replied. "I used to read all sorts of books as a child."

"But no more?" the Abbot asked.

"I have been…preoccupied for…quite a long time," Alexander stated.

"You always have time for a good story, good sir," the Abbot stated.

"Not where I was," Alexander said, shaking his head. The Abbot didn't press him further but continued on with what he was saying before.

"Do you like when a book ends?" the Abbot asked.

"Depends on the ending," Alexander replied.

"Yes, I guess it does," the Abbot nodded. "But you can admit that best part of any good tale isn't the ending. Nor is it the beginning. It is the middle. The journey. The challenges the characters face and how they overcome them. And when they overcome them, they gain something in return. That is their reward for their hard work."

"And what, exactly, did I gain in return," Alexander asked, his smile fading.

"I don't know," the Abbot shrugged. "I am not you. What did you gain?"

Alexander stopped walking and stared at the earth. The Abbot stopped and turned, surprised by his sudden stop.

"Questions," Alexander muttered. "Questions without answers. But I feel that those answers, if I find them, are not answers I will like."

The Abbot gazed at the strange man who had so suddenly popped into town. And now, he was staring at was the same man, but a different side of him.

"But you must find those answers," the Abbot stated. "For the most important questions are those that challenge who we are as human beings. When we come to those answers, we grow stronger."

"You trying to convert me, _Abbot_?" Alexander asked with a hint of a threat. "Should I ask your precious light what I should do?"

"No," the Abbot said. "But sometimes, the light can show you what the darkness hides."

"It is not that simple, Abbot," Alexander pointed out. "Not so black and white. In the end, we are all human beings, each with our own way of viewing our place in this universe. When we are born, our fathers and mothers on how to live life mold us. On what is good and what is evil. But sooner or later, we learn that there is no universal truth, no set morality that guards the force of nature, both human and otherwise. So we learn to adapt. We learn to adapt to our changing world and live life the way that suits us best. We give our lives purpose. We find our meaning or calling in life and we do our best to follow it. And now…"

_I was dead. My time had passed. I was supposed to be dead. Do I still have a purpose? Or had my purpose already passed? _Alexander asked himself and found no answers.

"In time, the answer will come to you," the Abbot reassured him. "And you will be stronger for it."

"But what happens, Abbot, when I am as strong as I can be? When I cannot be any stronger then I already am? How can this world challenge me when there is nothing here to challenge me with?" Alexander asked.

"You're confusing the issue," the Abbot stated. "We are all only human beings. Our potential is limitless. Our strength can only increase or decrease. It cannot find a limit. The only limits are those we place on ourselves."

Alexander looked up and a deadly fire was in his eyes. A fire not of this world. The Abbot's jaw dropped and he took a step back. A suffocating pressure surrounded him, pressing down on him. And for a brief moment, he saw not a man in front of him…something more.

"You would be surprised, Abbot, at just how powerful I am," Alexander stated calmly. "And if you ever realize this, you would know that there is no further path to walk down, no challenge to make me stronger. Nothing stands in my way, Abbot. Nothing."

And then, it was gone, replaced by this large yet unassuming man. There was no evidence to show what transpired, save for a bead of sweat that traced down the Abbot's wrinkled face.

"Now," Alexander said with a smile. "I promised I would help you in any way I can. What do you need?" The Abbot took a deep breath and turned, continuing to walk down the path.

"In this village, there grows the Golden Oak tree," the Abbot said. "It's power is immense, as it makes the surrounding ground extremely fertile and the air extremely fresh. As such, our crops and harvests become extremely plentiful. However, like all of life, it does not live forever. Every few decades, it withers and dies, leaving behind only a single acorn. As such, the Temple of Light has made it our duty to nourish and replant the Golden Oak when it comes time. If we don't, our village may suffer. However, the only thing that _can_ nourish the acorn is holy water from the Wellspring of Light. But the spring is located in a nearby cave that is said to be quite dangerous."

"Naturally," Alexander rolled his eyes.

"Our sacred text says that only two monks may enter," the Abbot continued. "The strongest and a second of the Abbot's choosing. This concerns me because the strongest monk here is my own child. So, instead of a second monk, I have chosen to send a protector for the first. You, if you are interested."

The Abbot stopped in his tracks and peered down the road. He lifted his arm and pointed.

"The cave is just at the end of the road," the Abbot said. "If you choose to do so, the monk will be waiting at the entrance to the cave. I must gather the other monks and prepare for the Blessing."

"What do I get if I do this?" Alexander asked.

"Nothing that I can give you," the Abbot replied.

"Then why should I do it?" Alexander asked, not out of scorn but out of simple curiosity.

"You may find the answer you're looking for," the Abbot said.

"And I may not," Alexander stated with a sigh. "Making it ultimately pointless."

"Good sir," the Abbot said with a smile. "Sometimes the most important things to fight for are the things we cannot smell, see, taste or touch. The things we feel with our fight are always more important than a simple handfuls of gold."

Alexander pondered his words for a moment. He turned to the Abbot and grinned.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

Roland sat on a boulder across from the lady who sat lying on a piece of ruined wall, one leg hanging from it and a bottle of booze in her hand. On the ground, a large urn sat, waiting to be filled. A cool breeze blew through the trees as he listened.

"What a lovely tune," he commented.

"Thanks, mate!" the woman said, taking another swig of the ale. "My lovely singing voice draws all the suitors to my company."

"Oh, no! I'm not a suitor!" Roland stated nervously, raising his hands in defense. It didn't stop the bottle from hitting him in the face, where it promptly shattered.

"_**Are you saying I'm not pretty enough to have my own suitors, is that it!"**_ the woman screamed angrily, face turning red.

"That's not what I said at all, ma'am," Roland said weakly, as he got back onto his feet. "I'm a bard, madam. I am not so lucky in love to be wooing women I don't know at all. I am…clumsy when it comes to women."

"Well at least, you're honest about it," the woman said with a smile. "That's one good trait some women find endearing."

"_Some_ women, not the ones I meet," Roland said bashfully. "What song was that?"

"Down by the Reeds," the woman replied. "My mother used to sing it to me when I had trouble going to sleep. Now that I hear, though, it kind of depressing."

"Most nursery rhymes are," Roland said. "Though this one has a kind of haunting melody to it. Can you sing me the words once again? I would very much like to write them down for later."

"By all means, bard!" the woman said, clearing her throat. She leaned back and opened her mouth.

_"Down by the reeds,_  
_Down by the reeds,_  
_Swim the Sirens of Oakvale,_  
_Out to the seas,_

_Down by the reeds,_  
_Down by the reeds,_  
_Float the souls left unbroken,_  
_By white balverines,_

_Down by the reeds,_  
_Night blooming weeds,_  
_Embrace those who go dancing,_  
_In sad moonlit dreams,_

_Down by the reeds,_  
_A twisted path leads,_  
_To banshees who breathe out,_  
_A cold winter's breeze,_

_Nobody knows,_  
_Nobody sees,_  
_The Sirens of Oakvale,_  
_Down by the reeds."_

And as she sang, Roland wrote down the words, committing the tune to memory. And hidden from kind eyes, Sparrow watched with envious eyes. Not envious of the woman but envious of happier days. The halcyon days of old when she would sit and listen to the bards tales and hear his songs.

Roland turned and looked into the bushes. Nothing there.

"What is it, bard?" Alexander asked, walking up from behind.

"I'm not sure," Roland said. "I thought I…I thought I smelled something familiar."

"Smell?" Alexander asked.

"Yes," Roland said fondly. "It smelled…beautiful."

Alexander looked up, knowing that Sparrow as sitting there, biding her time. He could feel her lust for blood growing when he walked into view. But she had great self-control, staying in the bushes until she could strike. Should he strike first?

_No,_ Theresa said, stopping him. _She still has a purpose to fulfill. She is imperative for our plans. She must complete what she came here to do._

_Why? What is she here to do? Tell me!_ Alexander shouted back, though without words.

Silence.

_We need a hero, not a pacifist monk_, Theresa said.

Alexander spun his head over his shoulder as if she was there talking to him, eyes wide with shock at the finality in her tone. What did she mean?

"Alexander? Are you alright?" Roland asked.

"Yes, bard, I am fine!" Alexander said with a smile. He looked over to the woman lying on the wall. "You must the strongest monk in the temple."

"And I guess you're supposed to be my protector," the woman said with a grunt as she dropped to the ground. "My father said you'd be coming by. I'm Sister Hannah. Some people call me Hammer when they think they're being clever. They're not." She said the last line with a threat.

"I'll keep that in mind," Alexander said. "I am Alexander. This is my friend, Roland."

"We were just chatting a bit," Hannah said, smiling. "I heard he was nearly killed by Ted. Something about sleeping with his wife?"

"The woman attacked me! What else was I supposed to do?" Roland nearly wept.

"I know, I know," Alexander patted his shoulder sympathetically. Hannah shook her head, smiling.

"If it were me, I'd probably bash the blokes face in," Hannah said, slamming her fist into her hand. "But I can't do that. We monks take a solemn vow to never do that. So whatever fighting's to be done in there is all yours."

"Well, more fun for me, then!" Alexander cracked his knuckles. Hannah chuckled as she took the large urn and hefted it onto her shoulder with a grunt.

"I don't mind telling you, I'm a bit envious," Hannah said. "You get all the excitement and I get to carry this bloody thing around like some sort of mule! I mean look at this! It's enormous!"

"That's exactly what she said," Roland noted.

"Who?" Alexander asked.

"The farmer's wife," Roland replied.

"About what?" Alexander asked.

Roland looked at him for a moment.

"Never mind," Roland stated. Then he thought for a moment and added the following note to his scroll:

_That's what she said – possible joke? Must study._

"I mean, golden or not, how much water does a bloody acorn need?" Hannah continued, trying to shift the weight of the urn to a more comfortable location. She sighed. "Let's just get this over with. After you, sir."

"Just a moment, please!" Alexander said, taking Roland by the shoulder and taking him over a few steps. He took him by both shoulders and looked into his eyes. "I need you to stay here and look after things at the Temple while I am down there, alright?"

"Why? Are you expecting trouble?" Roland asked.

"One thing you must learn is to trust your feelings," Alexander told him in a serious tone. "And my feelings are telling me that something is wrong. Very wrong."

Alexander held out his hand and out of the pocket came the stick, mighty and glorious.

"If something is wrong, contact me with this," Alexander said, handing it over to him. "Can I trust you with this?"

Roland didn't quite know what was going on but he could see the seriousness in Alexander's face.

"Yes," Roland said without hesitation. "You can count on me!"

"Good lad!" Alexander smiled. Then he turned to Hannah. "I will go down first. Keep close behind me at all times. If you see something tell me immediately. Communication is key. If you need a break, tell me immediately. Do you understand?"

"Geez, you'd think we were heading down the path of to the Shadows themselves!" Hannah rolled her eyes.

"We may very well be," Alexander told her sternly. Hannah stared back, unsure of what to think or say.

"I understand," Hannah replied.

"Good! Now let us go!" Alexander said cheerfully. Whistling to himself, he skipped down into the dark Wellspring Cave. Hannah shook her head, unsure of what to make of the man, and followed him. For a moment, Roland stood in the clearing, without a shirt and holding only a stick. He sighed, turned and walked up the hill.

In the nearby tree, Sparrow spied on Roland as he walked back up, admiring his slightly toned back before shaking her head.

"Roland, what are you doing here?" Sparrow whispered, agony in her voice.

"Did you say something, my lady?" the abomination said below.

"Nothing," Sparrow said. She looked down at the man standing there. His skin was deathly white and he wore pure black, covering have his face except for his eyes. He was bald save for black spikes poking through his skull. Red eyes stared up at her. "Which Commandant are you again?"

"I am Commandant 99, my lady," the man replied.

"Father's made so many of you, I can't keep track of you," Sparrow sighed.

"My lady, there are few of us left," the man replied. "In fact, I am the 49th experiment to survive."

"Whatever, I don't care," Sparrow growled. Fang growled as well. The Commandant took no note of this. He stared up at the Temple of Light, gleaming in the setting sun.

"How revolting," 99 stated. "Is the Hero of Strength really there?"

"That is what Father says," Sparrow said, opening her shirt a little to let the breeze in. "Though, I think she just went into the cave."

"Shall we go after her?" 99 asked.

"No," Sparrow shook her head. "That man is with her. And he is not to be trifled with. No, we will attack the Temple when night falls. It feels like it's going to rain. What do you think?"

"I do not feel, my lady," 99 replied.

"Whatever," Sparrow mumbled. "It'll rain so we will have the advantage of cover. When she returns, we will give her one simple choice. And she will come to us of her own free will. Or we will drag her kicking and screaming. Either way, we will have the advantage."

She looked down and grinned evilly, white teeth gleaming in the sunlight and a wild light in her eyes.

"When the lights go out, the rain will turn red," Sparrow declared.

* * *

A bit of foreshadowing in the beginning. And I'm not even talking about the hooded figure following Alexander. I actually name a bunch of heroes in this chapter. Will we see them? We'll see.

I am aware that Alexander is incredibly overpowered. This is intentional. Eventually, he'll meet some people who he'll actually exert some effort to kill. For now, just enjoy his use of strength, skill and will.

And no, I am not implying that Alexander is a Jedi. I'm just implying that he's Sir Alec Guinness, one of the greatest actors of all time and I'm not even talking about Star Wars. Whatever, I'm being funny. Laugh.

Uploaded another video on my youtube account. God of War 3 meets Amon Amarth. Check it out.

Oh and Fullmetal Alchemist has ended. The manga, at least. I am greatly saddened, but the ending was perfect. For those into manga should read it. Now.


	12. Part 11: A Holy Ritual, Plus Undead

Disclaimer: I do not own the Fable universe or Lionhead studios.

_†_ _Part 11 __≈ A Holy Ritual, Plus Undead †_

The Wellspring Cave was not as brilliant as the name implied. It was dark and damp and simply miserable. The only sources of light were the occasional oil torches lit along the only path available. For Alexander, he had been in worst. For Hannah, however, it was all she could talk about.

"Can you actually believe that no one has been here in over a hundred years?" Hannah continued. "Well…no monks, anyways. Might have been a few adventurers in here one or two times. But if they got out alive, I didn't hear about it. I mean, what keeps these torches burning? Did someone come through here ahead of time? Or were they burning for the whole hundred years?"

Alexander didn't answer. He instead gazed around, feeling the power of the place. Will was strong here, just like at the Temple of Avo and Chapel of Skorm. He could feel its presence, though he guessed the monks didn't know what it was. It felt holy, so they devoted their belief and Temple around it. But it wasn't holy or unholy. Will was neither good nor evil. It all depended on how one interpreted its presence.

Was the girl still talking?

"I wonder if they walked through this pathway, lighting all the torches?" Hannah continued, hefting the jar to a more comfortable position.

Yes. Yes she was.

The tunnel ended and they found themselves in a large, cavernous area, with only one pathway leading to a lower level. From the ceiling hung stalactites, which dripped down to their partners below. For hundreds of years, they did the same dance, reaching towards each other, stretching for their life long soul mates. They would not meet each other until thousands of years later. They would not be able to touch or feel each other until thousands of years later. But it would be worth it.

This wasn't what caught their eyes. It was the lights. Dancing among the stalactites were what looked like fireflies. They moved among the stalactites lazily, with minds of their own. Bright lights that moved on their own, without purpose. Without life.

"They're lovely!" Hannah breathed.

"That is because you do not know what they are," Alexander said with a faint smile. He continued down the path.

"I know exactly what they are!" Hannah protested. "They're called wisps, right? Apparently, they're the souls of the dead that didn't quite move on. Or at least, that's what the stories say."

"And do you know how they come to be stuck here?" Alexander asked.

"Uh…not really, no," Hannah stated.

"Then, would you like me to tell you?" Alexander asked, turning to look at her. Hannah was surprised by the seemingly blissful look on his face. It was as if the fact of talking about it would have brought him great joy. Hannah smiled.

"Sure," Hannah said, waving her hand along, shifting the weight of the jar on her back.

"Excellent!" Alexander exclaimed, with a slight skip in his step. "Now, according to the scholars of the Heroes' Guild, the afterlife is a place they named Archon's Dream. The rulers of the Old Kingdom in their vanity called it that. They assured everyone that all were welcome there by the grace of the gods themselves. Humans and otherwise. All they had to do was let go of all earthly possessions when they died, such as their bodies. However, some could not do so. Some had become enraptured by the pleasures of the world. So when they died, they could not let go. So there they are, trying desperately to find some way to return to the world and indulge in their pleasures. And as they move, trying to find a way back, they become envious of the living and of their flesh."

Hannah gulped slightly.

"Or so I am told," Alexander said with a smile.

"And is it true?" Hannah asked. Alexander considered this before answering.

"Anything is possible," he answered. "It makes one think about their place in the world. The implication of the story suggests that we only have one chance. So we should not waste it. We should do the things we do not enjoy and focus, instead, on living our lives the way we wish to. That is the ideal that the Heroes of Old held to be true."

Hannah considered this as she followed behind the strange adventurer. She considered her place at the Temple of Light and in Oakfield. She considered her place as a monk. Was this what she wanted to be doing all her life? Praying?

"What of this…Archon's Dream?" Hannah asked. "What did they say it was like?"

Alexander was silent for a moment.

"I would not know," was all he said in a hushed voice.

"Of course you wouldn't," Hannah continued without abatement. "You're still here and kicking and I guess the only way to get there would be to die. And paradise can't actually be something that is imagined by mortals like us, I guess. So, actually trying to think of what it is like is ultimately futile."

"But we can dream, can we not?" Alexander asked in return. "And are dreams really not worth having?"

"Uh…" Hannah wasn't sure how to answer, so Alexander let her brew over the question, a small smile on his face.

They came to the end of the path and entered another tunnel. This time, the tunnel opened into a wide, circular room with a large brazier in the center, burning brilliantly and lighting the room. From the center, Alexander could see four openings; one they had just walked from and the other three on other parts of the room, spread apart equally. The other three entrances were covered with barred gates that looked too heavy to lift.

"Alright," Hannah stated, examining the room. "This should be the central chamber."

"And that is one large pulley system," Alexander announced, looking at the…large pulley system that was suspended above the three doors. One large wooden beam hung across the door with a large metal chain snaking into the ground. He looked down and saw what appeared to be a circular plate with the symbol for the golden oak inscribed upon it. Examining the other doors, he saw that there were others in front of the other doors.

"According to my father, we need to go through these three gates to collect the water," Hannah explained. "Each of the these pressure plates opens the doors. The first one only responds to the weight of the jar by itself. The others, however, only respond to the weight of the jar plus the water we collect from the springs."

"So, as the weight of the jar increases, we can open more doors," Alexander surmised.

"Correct," Hannah agreed. With a great grunt, she lifted the jar off of her back and placed it gently onto the pressure plate. There were loud clicks and thuds in the background as the centuries old systems began to work. The large pulley system Alexander had examined earlier creaked and groaned as it went to work, the chain pulling the wooden beam downward, causing it to cause the barred gate to slowly lift up, opening the way forward.

"After you!" Hannah announced, lifting the jar back onto her back.

Alexander smiled as he led the way.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

Roland cracked his stiff neck as he paced in front of the Temple, wooden stick held aloft over his shoulder. It had only been a half an hour when they left, but for some reason, an uneasy feeling had swept over him, especially over how Alexander had left. Alexander had never been one to show concern over something. Always light-hearted confidence. But this time, when he left, Alexander was definitely uneasy about something, whether or not he meant to show it. So Roland was prepared for anything.

_But by whatever gods there are, this is so boring!_ Roland thought as he stifled a yawn.

He had been guarding the door to the Temple, sometimes standing in one place, other times pacing this way and that. Plus, he was completely exhausted from the wood chopping that he had been doing all day. And then the exertion he went through with the farmer and the shotgun. He simply wanted to sit down and sleep.

The sun had finally disappeared from the horizon and had colored the night sky with a beautiful reddish hue. So, to pass the time, Roland decided to think of a rhyme to describe it. Maybe it would keep him awake.

"Red sky at night…" Roland couldn't finish it.

He sighed and paced the road. He needed a drink. Alcohol had always kept him awake for some reason. He had made a hundred-some gold chopping wood for the farmer before he tried to kill him, plenty for a pint of ale. Maybe some Gutter Beer and what not.

But dare he leave his post?

"I'm not a bloody soldier!" Roland cried out, exasperated and bored out of his mind. He sighed. "I'll just go to the Sandgoose, pick up a glass of beer and then walk back here. Ten minutes at the most! Nothing can happen in ten minutes!"

With renewed vigor, he picked up his mighty stick and strutted down the path towards his glass of beer.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

"Now, there are two plates in this room," Hannah explained as the duo walked into the circular chamber. The walls were of dirt and rocks with roots from trees hanging from the ceiling. However, in the center was a beautiful statue of a woman that held a plate. It stood on a pedestal that had two circular plates like the ones in the central chamber.

"So there are," Alexander muttered humorously to himself.

"It'll take both of us to get the water flowing," Hannah continued, walking up the stairs. "I stand on the one nearest the statue to catch it. And you stand on the other one."

"Just stand?" Alexander asked.

"Just stand right there," Hannah said.

Alexander shrugged and walked onto the plate as instructed. The plate shifted under his weight and he could hear hidden machineries begin to move and shift. Hannah stood on he plate beside him and a large line of water began to flow from the ceiling. It fell into the plate the statue was holding with a splash. As it overflowed, Hannah placed the jar down on the ground beneath the plate, so the water flowed into the jar.

"Oh, yeah," Hannah mumbled sarcastically. "I can feel this thing getting heavier already. That's nice, that is."

"Indeed," Alexander replied.

"So far, this isn't all that bad!" Hannah continued. "Some steep bits here and there, but overall, not as bad as I thought it was going to be. Though, I do hope they find someone else to do this next time. Mind you, I'll be an old lady by then, so I'm probably off the hook."

"You probably will be," Alexander commented.

"You know, this will probably be the highlight of my life!" Hannah sighed. "'The day I carried a jug through a cave!' Hardly epic poem stuff, is it?"

"Oh, I do not know," Alexander shrugged. "Roland could probably throw in some dragons, make a white balverine your pet and have wielding a giant hammer."

Hannah chuckled at the thought. Then her face was distant and thoughtful.

"It's so boring here," Hannah said, mostly to herself. "I wanted so much more from life. I never really wanted to be a monk. I mean, look at me! I'm hardly monk material. My father spent half of my childhood trying to stop me from punching people's kids. I don't know. I guess I wish that I didn't _have_ to be a monk."

Alexander looked over at her.

"Be careful what you wish for," Alexander warned her. "You may find it granted."

Hannah looked over at Alexander, wondering what he meant by that. But before she could ask, the water drizzled out and stopped altogether.

"Well, looks like that's all we're going to get out of this one," Hannah said as she hefted the jar back onto her back. It was noticeably heavier now, filled with water. Alexander whistled as he walked forward with Hannah, despite her immense strength, was starting to tire, though it was not enough to stop her.

Alexander glided out of the room, hands held behind his back; softly humming to himself as he did so. Hannah lugged the jar, muttering to herself at the weight. Alexander ignored her for the most part, though she didn't seem to mind his silence. It seemed to just be her way of dealing with the awkward and uncomfortable. She wasn't so full of pride that she wanted to talk so that she could speak. But she did hold herself in just the right amount of high esteem.

He froze mid-stride and mid-tune, something spiking in his senses.

"What is it?" Hannah asked, noticing his hesitation.

"Nothing is ever easy, is it?" Alexander sighed. He pointed at the glowing wisps flying above.

They had become erratic, darting this way and that. They pulsated with an angry light, shaking and trembling with contained anger. The glowing balls of light then dove into the ground as fast as bullets. The pelted into the ground with clouds of dust.

"Did you know that wisps are jealous creatures?" Alexander asked. "Envious enough to kill? These floating spirits envy the living for the flesh they can exploit. So they wish to take their flesh. But they cannot take a body that already has a spirit living in it. So great is there rage that they take the nearest soulless body, use that soulless body to kill the soul-filled flesh and take over their body."

"That…doesn't make sense," Hannah stated.

"When you are dead and enraged, nothing logically makes sense," Alexander replied. "That said, in a few moments, they will rise from the ground and try to kill us all. So, do pay close attention to what I say, or else you will die and my sister will be very upset with me. She may even kill me. And believe me, Hannah, when my sister sets her mind on something, nothing can convince her otherwise."

Hannah was about to ask why but movement caught her attention. A low rumbling in the ground echoed up through the soles of her feet. Hannah, eyes growing wider and wider with each heartbeat, tried to understand what was coming up from the ground. What could possibly be coming up from the ground?

The answer clawed its way up in an explosion of dirt and rocks. A hideous _thing_ reached out and took hold of the ground; finger-like claws that dug deep into the ground. With unknown strength, it pulled along with a thin, gangly creature. Pieces fell from the thing as it took tentative steps out of the hole and onto solid ground. With glowing eyes, it stared menacingly at its prey, a rusted weapon in its hand.

"_A Hollow Man!"_ Hannah breathed, eyes wide with shock as more sprouted from the ground.

"Is that what they are called now?" Alexander asked. "Back in my day, we just called them Undead. Because…well, that is what they are. Undead bodies with souls inside them. But now, they are called…Hollow Men, was it? That is more of a description of what they are then what they actually are. I mean, they have no internal organs so that would make them hollow, but they are still more Undead than Hollow. See, look! That one has its entrails hanging from its ribcage! That is not exactly hollow, now is it?"

"_**Isn't this when you're supposed to come in!"**_ Hannah screamed as they limped closer.

"What? Oh, right. I have to kill them," Alexander stated, planting his fist in his palm in a matter-of-fact way. Then, reaching into the pocket, he pulled from it a mighty, wooden club with a gilded handle. On the end, there was a ball with four spikes protruding from it horizontally. Alexander hummed to himself as he tossed the club from one hand to the other while Hannah stared at what she just witnessed.

"Wha…what…" Hannah breathed, unable to voice her question.

"Oh, this?" Alexander answered. "This is Orkon's Club. Found it in a chest at Archon's Shrine, an area of the Northern Wastes. Just kind of lying there unattended. Apparently, Orkon was a diminutive warrior who shunned society and lived in the mountains. Because he was often mistaken for a Hobbe and sometimes a baby Troll, his enemies would sometimes laugh as they saw his small form charging towards them with this club in his hand. And you know? It was usually the last thing they ever did."

"But how…how did that…_appear?_" Hannah asked, completely forgetting about the hollow men limping up to her. One rose up behind her and raised its axe. Alexander shot the club forward, knocking its head off with a single swing. With his other hand, he dragged Hannah away from the swinging axe. Alexander smiled as he spun around and slammed the club into the undead's headless body, shattering it into pieces.

"How?" Alexander asked, turning to the horde of undead swarming towards them. He rested the club on his shoulder and raised his left hand. Closing his fingers into a fist, he cracked each knuckle loudly. As he did so, soft fires began to dance across his hand and forearm.

"Because I willed it," was the answer he gave before he went to work.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

Roland was stuck in line, waiting to be served. He sighed as the person in front took his sweet time in selecting what beer he wanted.

"Um, hi, um…" The man began. "Um…um…do you have orange juice?"

"No, we don't serve orange juice," the bartender replied.

"Oh, okay…um…um…um…uh…do you have apple juice?"

"No, we don't serve apple juice," the bartender replied.

"Right, right…um…hm…do you have grape juice?"

"No, we don't have grape juice."

"Huh, you don't have much. Okay…well…do you have nectar juice?"

"_**Oh come on! That's not even a real drink!"**_ Roland screamed.

"Um, excuse me! It is _my_ turn to order! Be patient!" the idiot said coldly. He stared at Roland for a moment before returning to the bartender. "Rude!"

"Sir, we only sell alcoholic drinks here. No juices of any kind," the bartender, in a very bored tone of voice.

"Oh…um, okay…okay…do you have nectarini?"

"Oh for the love of…" Roland groaned as he turned around and walked away. He didn't have time for this.

He walked outside and breathed in the night air. The sun had set and people were coming for either heading towards the Sandgoose for a drink or heading home for sleep. Now, Roland had to head back to the Temple without his drink. He sighed, allowing the cool night breeze to ruffle through his thick hair.

The breeze also blew through something that caught Roland's ears. Several musical notes echoed through the air before Roland saw what it was.

"What is that?" Roland asked the trader as he began closing down his stall.

"What, that?" the trader asked. "That's a lute friend. If you know how to use it, you can impress the ladies with it."

Roland stared at the lute, a curved instrument with strings attached. The wind continued to play more musical notes as they ran through the strings.

"How much?" Roland asked.

"Not now, friend, I'm closing up shop!" the trader groaned.

"Then be quick with your answer," Roland shot back, eyes still on the lute. The trader sighed.

"100 gold," the trader replied.

"I'll give you 70," Roland said playfully.

"70? Are you serious? This is a handcrafted piece of jewelry, this is! I'll go no lower than 90!" the trader groaned, tired and wishing for a drink.

"80," Roland continued.

"85 and you have a deal," the trader stated.

"Deal," Roland said quickly, placing the gold in the trader's hand. The trader took a quick look at the gold, nodded and pocketed the money. He then grabbed the lute and handed it to Roland.

"Pleasure doing business, friend," the trader grumbled.

Roland nodded and examined the lute. The moonlight gleamed as it reflected off of the lute. Roland placed it into his hand and plucked at a few strings, listening to their notes.

He smiled warmly.

As he placed the lute on his back, he picked up the stick Alexander gave him and walked back up to the Temple of Light. He paused for a moment and looked up at the clouds.

"Oh! It's starting to rain," Roland commented.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

Hannah breathed heavily as she nearly collapsed onto the ground, carrying the now completely full jug of water. They had just returned from the second spring and another harrowing fight with the Undead. Alexander was forced to stand on one plate while picking off the Undead one by one with his crossbow. It was tough with Hannah standing out in the open with Undead trying to kill her but Alexander pulled them through with only a few scratches

"That…was…_intense!_" Hannah breathed, wiping the sweat off her brow.

"Are you alright?" Alexander asked. "The second spring was tough."

"I'm fine, thanks," Hannah coughed. "Just…I was out in the open and everything while getting the blasted water."

"So, that was the last of the water we needed, correct?" Alexander asked.

"Yes, that was it," Hannah replied. "We just need to bless the water. It should be through the last doorway. The one that we haven't opened yet."

Hannah pushed herself up onto her feet and with her massive muscles, grabbed the jug and placed it onto the last plate. The inner workings of the temple began to creak and grind as gears began to move. The last gate creaked as dust fell off the bars and began its ascent.

It got stuck halfway through.

"Bloody hell!" Hannah groaned. "This is just perfect!"

Alexander said nothing. He simply walked forward and grabbed the bottom of the gate. He took a deep breath and began to pull. His muscles began to ripple and bulge as he pushed through the age and rust of the gears. Hannah steeped back as he began to glow. Veins of blue light began to course under his skin and a small wind picked up around him. For a brief moment, Hannah thought she saw a mighty armored figure.

With a single grunt, he pushed the gate up and out of the way. He clapped the dust off his hands and stood back, his normal self-coming as quickly as it had gone.

"Shall we?" Alexander asked. Hannah stared at him.

"Who are you?" Hannah asked. Alexander smiled.

"I am a hero," Alexander replied. "Now, come along. We best keep moving. They are waiting for us."

Hannah nodded and grabbed the jug, hoisting it onto her back. Whatever she saw was probably just her imagination. Still, they had to move on.

They continued down the pathway and soon, came across a large open hallway. Instead of the normal dirt and rocks that originally lined the path, this open room was instead paved and filled with a dirty kind of marble or carved stone. Alexander walked into the room, examining the room for hostiles as he did. Hannah moved forward, breathing heavily. The strain was starting to get to her, though the thought of having it all coming to an end raised her spirit. She rushed towards the exit.

Alexander raised a hand to block her path.

"One lesson you should learn," Alexander told her. "It is never this easy. Move to that corner and do not make yourself known. I will tell you when it is safe."

Without waiting for her answer, he walked forward, gripping his club in his right hand. Hannah looked at him for a moment before running towards the corner. She placed the jug behind a fallen pillar with a loud thud, careful to not drop any of the water inside. Then she turned and watched as Alexander walked into the room, whistling to himself as he did so.

Alexander's footsteps echoed loudly through the hall, resounding against the rocks and stones. His whistling was louder. Yes, he sensed the angry wisps dancing below his feet, but he wanted them to come to him. So he stopped walking and stood still in the middle of the room, patiently tapping his foot on the ground.

It didn't take long for the angry spirits to make their move.

The ground cracked and the horde of undead burst forth from the ground, spewing dirt and rocks in all directions. The swarmed forward as they leapt towards their prey. So much action and so much commotion that it was impossible to count how many undead there were. All anyone could tell was that there were seemingly thousands of them and Alexander was caught in the middle.

Alexander regarded them with an amused indifference. He smiled and a single snap of his fingers, a flash of the veins of will and time slowed down.

They moved at such a slow speed that it was almost laughable. Alexander could see every drop of saliva and otherwise, every fleck of dirt dancing across the air. And the nearest hollow man was…too close.

He swung his club, destroying three undead with each swing. The shattered into pieces, their derelict bits thrown into the wind. When his club touched their skin, they returned to his time, able only realize their death. As soon as the club tore through them, their pieces returned to their slowed state.

To Alexander, he had finished them all in less than five minutes. To Hannah, he had finished them all in the blink of an eye. As Alexander came out of slowed time, the pieces of the Undead fell to the ground in piles and pieces. Alexander looked at his work and continued whistling.

"That…that was…_amazing!_" Hannah exclaimed, a smile forming on her face in excitement.

"Did you like that? Then you will love this," Alexander said, pointing down into the ground. And then the ground exploded.

Emerging from the ground was a giant, walking skeleton. Stood tall, covered from head to toe in rusted but powerful armor. In one hand it held a wickedly curved sword while its other hand held a rusted axe. Its eyes glowed angrily as it stared at Alexander.

"Hello there," Alexander asked.

The giant walking skeleton crackled with blue electricity and opened its mouth wide. Out from the glowing maw, a lightning bolt shot forward towards Alexander. Alexander lifted his hand and the lightning bolt gathered in his hand in a ball of electricity. The giant limped forward and swung its axe. With the ball of electricity in his hand, he reached out and grabbed the skeleton's hand and sent the lightning back up the giant's arm. He then tore it off.

The giant took a step back and looked at his stump.

"Just a scratch, do you not think?" Alexander asked.

It roared again and tried to swing its sword. Alexander tore that arm off.

"Just a flesh wound, do not worry," Alexander reassured him.

The giant tried to kick him. Alexander clubbed the leg to pieces. The giant hopped on one foot.

"Please do not bleed on me. I like these clothes," Alexander asked.

The giant tried to lean against him, pushing him down. Alexander took out his other leg.

"Well, alright then," Alexander said, putting the club back into the pocket. "I think it's safe now, Hannah. We best get a move on."

"You…you sure that thing's safe?" Hannah asked, motioning to the legless, armless torso rolling on the ground.

"Yeah, it is fine," Alexander said. "It cannot hurt- _**Ah! It is trying to bite my legs off!"**_

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

The monks of the Temple of Light were lighting the candles to banish the darkness. The Abbot oversaw the procedure and assisted with the little details, a warm smile on his face. The Light would be worshiped in peace tonight, with preparations for the remainder of the Ritual being the main priority.

"Father, we have visitors coming up from the road," one of the monks said walking in from the rain. "They…they don't look friendly."

"I will deal with this, Timothy," the Abbot said. "Just continue with the rest of the preparations."

Lightning struck and a dark hooded figure stood in the doorway before he could walk to the entrance.

"I apologize, traveler," the Abbot said politely. "We are in the middle of an important ritual and must not be interrupted. If you came by tomorrow, we will be happy to accommodate you in whatever way we can."

"Father," Sparrow said coldly. "Believe me. This won't take long."

Another man walked up beside her. With palely white skin and black leather clothing from head to toe and a black highwayman hat covering the spikes drilled into his head. He drew his wicked sword.

"Men, get ready," 99 commanded.

The Abbot's eyes widened as he saw the small platoon of 15 men, each one large and sinister, each one with a glowing red collar around their necks and each one with only their eyes visible. Each one with a cutlass and a hook on their hands.

Sparrow grinned as she tore off the cloak and threw it away, drawing her Maelstrom. She wore her signature crop top jacket over a corset and her short shorts. She grinned maliciously as she looked at the hapless monks.

"Kill all the monks," Sparrow commanded. "Leave the Abbot."

Lightning crashed and the rain fell.

* * *

Yeah, so this took longer than intended. Oh well. Happy Fourth for Americans. I spent my weekend touring the Gettysburg battlefield…which is HUGE! OMG! Also, after seeing the field where Pickett's Charge took place, as well as the High Water Mark, I gotta say…General Lee was an idiot. Well not all the time but just that one time. Seriously. Dumbass move.

Now that think about it, my 6th grade teacher was a descendent of Lee. Or at least, he was the only white guy in Shanghai with a last name of Lee.

Also, my ancestor may or may not have fought at Gettysburg. We know we have an ancestor that fought in the Civil War. And when touring Culps Hill, we heard of a guy with the same last name as my family's. Don't know if we're related or not.

Some Monty Python near the end. It's a scratch and a flesh wound. Heh heh.


	13. Part 12: Sacrifice

Disclaimer: I do not own the Fable universe or Lionhead studios.

_†_ _Part 12 __≈ Sacrifice †_

Fang sniffed the area, already drenched in the blood of the innocent monks. Outside, the rain had begun to pour, though it wasn't at all hard. Inside, the walls were tainted red, with the bodies of the monks strewn across the floor of the temple. Guards patrolled the interior and exterior of the temple. Only two monks were left alive: the Abbot, who was also Hannah's father, and his associate, Timothy Lightjoy.

In the center of the temple was the pond, which was at all times, basked in light of the sun and the moon. The pond, however, was now more or less blood. And lying in the middle of the pond, staring up at the clouds and allowing the rain to fall on her face, lay Sparrow.

Fang, having finished his patrol of the area, plopped himself down beside his master. Sparrow placed her hand on his head and scratched it affectionately.

"Lady Sparrow," Commandant 99, his face pale and clothing nothing more than a dark shape in the night, said in a deep voice. "We've killed all the monks in the temple. There still remains a small group outside, in and around the village of Oakfield. What should we do with them?"

"Nothing," Sparrow said after a thought. "We should avoid any unnecessary murders. We're just here to wait for the Hero of Strength and ask her to come with us, or her father dies. Plain and simple."

"Very well," 99 replied, though it sounded almost as if he didn't like the order. "What do you want done with the last monk?"

Sparrow pushed her chin out, dipping the back of her head further into the pond and looked behind her. She saw Timothy Lightjoy, sitting and shaking next to the Abbot, who sat emotionlessly with his head down. Timothy looked at Sparrow, eyes full of fear.

"Oh, him?" Sparrow murmured. "I don't know. What do you think should be done with him?"

Fang barked.

"That doesn't really answer my question," Sparrow noted. Sighing, she rolled onto her side and got up, water snaking down and into her bosom. She untied her hair and whipped it to the side, rinsing the blood and water out of it. She whipped her hair back behind her and retied it into a ponytail. Still covered and glistening from the water, she stuck her hip to the side and stared down at Timothy, quivering down before her.

"Your pathetic, you know that?" Sparrow commented. "So high and mighty in your beliefs, but not at all willing to fight for them. How well is that pacifism going for you?"

"We trust in the light," the Abbot replied calmly. "In goodness and purity. And nothing you say can change our beliefs."

"It's not about what I say," Sparrow replied. "It's about what I can do. I just killed all your monks. I can kill the both of you right now. And you better believe that when I do, you will change. Your beliefs will change when I kill you. Though, I doubt you'll notice it. Because, you know, you'll be dead."

"We are not threatened by your darkness," the Abbot replied. "The Light will always outshine the darkness. There is always hope. This I know."

"Well, I don't know anything about that mystic mumbo jumbo," Sparrow scoffed. "All I know is that your daughter better get here quick before I get bored and tell my men to lay waste to the town."

"Why?" Timothy exclaimed. "Why are you doing this? What's the point of this slaughter?"

"There's no point to any of this," Sparrow sighed, tired of having to explain all of this. "There's no point to life. Where's the point in a child dying at birth? What did the child ever do to deserve only a second of life? What any of us do is meaningless because in the end, we all will die. Our memories will linger for a few brief frantic moments and then fade way like dust in the wind. We all are just a few microseconds on the clock of the earth. Grains of sand in a desert wider than the universe. There is no point to any of this because what we do in our lives won't even make a dent in the grand scheme of this world."

"Human lives have meaning, daughter," the Abbot replied. "We are all part of a plan."

"What plan?" Sparrow asked, chuckling at his foolishness. "Do you honestly think there's a great big plan to all this? I've grown up on the streets, Abbot. I've seen the worst of human depravity. I've seen grown men lay in the beds of 5-year-old girls and boys. I've seen women drown their newborn children in wells because they don't want to feed another mouth. I've seen fathers douse their families in alcohol and burn them because they were drunk. Where was the plan in that? No, Abbot. There is no plan. We are simply here. We are simply alive."

Fang yawned and plopped himself down amidst the water and blood. Sparrow looked over at the open door, where 99 was leaning against the frame, apparently sleeping. Five soldiers were standing guard around the perimeter of the temple, while five more were standing guard outside the temple. The other five were keeping an eye on the road, making sure no one came up that wasn't wanted. Sparrow sighed.

"I'm bored," Sparrow groaned. She glanced over at Timothy Lovejoy. "You want to play a game?"

Timothy gulped and sweated visibly.

"Don't worry, it's an easy game," Sparrow said, strutting around and until she stood behind the monk. With one swipe of the Maelstrom, she cut the ropes that bound the monk's hands. She kicked the monk down onto his hands and knees and smacked his bottom, forcing him back onto his feet quickly. "Here's the rules. I'm gonna give you a five second head start. After five seconds, Fang's gonna hunt you down and bring you back to me. If you can keep away from him for a minute, then you can go your way. If not, then he brings you back in pieces."

"D-Don't you mean bring me back whole?" Timothy asked.

"No, I don't mean that," Sparrow replied. "Of course, that's up to Fang. He might bring you back like a trophy, or he might just tear you apart. Whatever he fancies."

"You-you-you-you-!" Timothy stammered.

"One…two…" Sparrow counted and Timothy sprinted away. He slipped and fell face first into a puddle of blood. Crying out in dismay, he jumped onto his feet and ran out the door, face covered in the blood of his former comrades. None of the guards impeded his path, instead letting him pass by without a second thought. They no longer had thoughts of their own. Only the thoughts of their mistress mattered.

Sparrow watched with amusement as the miniscule monk ran away into the rain. She looked over at the dog and ruffled his black mane.

"Bring him back to me, boy," Sparrow whispered. She let go of his mane and Fang sprinted off into the rain after the monk. Sparrow stood up and rubber her hands. She looked over at the Abbot.

"You're a monster," he said simply.

Sparrow's face betrayed no emotions, though her eyes had a hint of sadness.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

Roland whistled as he walked down the road, lute strapped onto his back and the stick in his right hand. The rain poured down onto his face, but he hardly noticed it. He loved the rain. It always seemed so peaceful to him when he watched it pour as a child. Even when the roaring thunder and treacherous winds threatened to blow down his house (or what he called a house, which was actually more like a tent or a box), he still could find some semblance of peace within the heart of the storm. He took a deep breath, smelling the night air.

"_**Help me!"**_ came a sudden cry that snapped Roland out of his thoughts. Roland looked forward and saw a monk running down and around the curve of the road. Fear and panic was written all across his face, and as Roland looked past the monk, he saw what was chasing him.

A black shape rose up from the ground like a hound from the fires of hell itself, chasing after its prey. Fear gripped Roland's chest and his palms began to sweat. It was as if the very hounds of death were closing in front of him, trying to vie for his soul.

Roland gritted his teeth and shook his head, shaking away his fear. When he opened his eyes again, it was the hound from hell that he saw.

"Fang?" Roland asked, unbelieving. He barely noticed the monk running and tripping as he ran behind him, hiding in terror. Roland gripped the stick tightly; unsure of what the dog was going to do next.

Fang slowed down and crouched low to the ground, growling loudly as he inched closer to the bard. Roland gulped. He had met the dog every now and then when he visited Sparrow. Each time, the dog had been composed, happy and playful. Now…now it was like death was standing in front of him, staring him down. He dare not blink.

Instinctively, Roland held out his hand. Fang's growling softened. Roland clicked his tongue against his teeth as he cautiously stepped forward. Fang stopped growling and cocked his head quizzically. This human wasn't afraid of him. Odd. Fang stepped forward and sniffed the open hand Roland held out in front of him. Roland gulped, unsure of how Fang would react.

Fang licked his hand and Roland breathed a sigh of relief.

"Good dog," Roland muttered. He bent down and ruffled Fang's black mane. "You're a good dog."

"That dog just murdered my companions!" Timothy wailed. "That dog is the devil!"

"No," Roland replied. "The dog is just following his master's orders. Nothing more and nothing less."

"That…that _demon_'s got the Abbot up at the Temple," Timothy said. "She's massacred my brothers and sisters in cold blood! She's waiting for Hannah to return from the Wellspring and she'll use the Abbot to force her to come with her!"

"Why?" Roland asked, scratching Fang's stomach as he panted happily.

"I don't know," Timothy replied. "I don't know. What do we do? Do we get the guards?"

"No," Roland said. "They'd be massacred against Sparrow. She's not like the people they're used to dealing with. The only man who can confront her is Alexander."

"The wanderer whose supposed to be guarding Hannah?" Timothy asked skeptically.

"Trust me. He'll know what to do," Roland replied. He knelt down and whispered in Fang's ear. "Go back to Sparrow now."

Fang yawned as he rolled back onto his legs and walked away. Shaking off the rain and mud from his fur, he walked up the path and around the curve. Roland stood up and wiped his hands clean. He then picked up the stick and held it up to his mouth.

"Uh, Alexander?" Roland spoke into the stick. "Alexander we've got a problem."

What he got back was a head splitting screech that sent Timothy straight onto his bottom and nearly blasted Roland's eardrums. Roland dropped the stick (which had sprouted a mouth and was screeching still) and covered his ears, trying to block out the noise. But as soon as it began, it stopped.

"What in blazes was that?" Timothy asked.

"_**What?"**_ Roland screamed.

"Keep it down! They'll hear you!" Timothy warned.

"_**Okay!"**_ Roland screamed again.

"Oi, Bob? You hear something?" a guard yelled.

"Wot, the sound of some idiot yelling because 'is ears are shot?" his friend replied.

"Yea, something like that!" a guard yelled in reply.

"Then no, I don't hear anything," his friend replied.

"Okay, we need a plan," Roland said, popping his ears, moving his jaws around this way and that. "Is there another way into the Wellspring Cave?"

"Yes," Timothy nodded. "There is another entrance that the two monks are supposed to exit from after they've retrieved the water. It's right over there, past the fence."

Roland peered through the foliage and the rain.

"What, next to the cliff?" Roland asked.

"It's on top of the cliff," Timothy replied. Roland looked over at Timothy.

"So you have the monks, after going through a dark cave, carrying a jug filled with water, climb down a high cliff?" Roland asked, skeptical.

"It's supposed to be the final challenge before our monks return to the Temple," Timothy replied sheepishly. Roland sighed.

"Alright, stay close," Roland warned and he hopped over the nearby fence. Timothy followed and stayed close. Keeping the fence and foliage to his left, Roland kept low to the ground and ran towards the cliff. The rain was starting to pick up, causing the dirt to turn into mud, which sucked in their feet almost out of their shoes. But they pressed on and found themselves at the bottom of the cliff.

It wasn't by any means as high as the cliffs of Rookridge, being about three or five times as tall as them. However, it would still be a long climb and it the rain had moistened the rocks, making them slippery.

"I'll boost you up," Roland said, cupping his hands between his legs. Timothy gulped and placed his foot in his hands. Roland heaved upwards with newfound strength and Timothy hands gripped at the nearest rock. His fingers found their strength as he pulled himself up and pushed with his feet. The rocks, though wet, scratched and dug into the palms of his hand and he gritted his teeth in pain. But he continued upwards.

"_**Oi! I told you I heard something!"**_

Roland spun around and saw five guards rushing towards them. Timothy looked back and gasped in terror.

"Keep moving! Tell Alexander what's happened! Go!" Roland yelled. He spun around and gripped the stick tightly. He breathed in. He had never killed a human being before.

"You gonna attack us with a stick? Pathetic," one of the guards shook his head. He raised his cutlass high.

Roland was faster. He rushed forward and slammed the stick into his exposed gut. The combined augmentations of every possibility collided into the guard. He was effectively burned, received silver poisoning, electrocuted, stabbed, and cut all at once. In other words, the guard was dead.

The other four guards were unsure of what to make of him. They looked at each other, and then back at Roland. Screaming at the top of their lungs, they charged unthinking at their new foe.

Timothy heard the fighting below him, but he dare not look down. He heard Roland scream, shout and curse, but he dare not look down. He concentrated only on climbing and reaching the top of the cliff. His hands had begun to bleed but he didn't care or didn't notice. He focused on what he had to do. A little pain was nothing compared to what was at stake. The main tenant of the Temple was to learn the value of sacrifice. And now, the Light was testing his resolve. He would not fail. He could not.

His foot slipped and he wailed as he dug his bleeding fingers deeper into the rock. He cried out in pain as his fingernails cracked. He panted heavily and was in pain but the rain was relentless and unforgiving. He tried to reach upwards, but the pain of his hands and legs were too much.

"Your faith will be rewarded, monk," came a soft, elderly woman's voice.

Timothy looked up and blinked as the rain fell into his eyes. He saw the figure of a hooded woman in red, but he couldn't be sure because the rain was blurring his vision. He saw clearly, however, her outstretched hand reaching down. Unthinking, Timothy reached out and grabbed her hand. The hand pulled him up to the top of the cliff and landed him on his feet. Timothy caught his breath and looked around.

No one was there.

Timothy looked around, stunned and confused. Who had helped him? He was sure that someone was here. He had felt her hand. Before he could think any longer, the fighting down below reminded him of his job. Holding his bleeding hands in his coat, he rushed into the cave entrance.

Roland fell to his knees and panted heavily. He had defeated the five in no time at all, but not without suffering injuries. The guards were human after all, not mindless hobbes. They could reason, defend and counter attack. He had received a gash in his back, which was bleeding profusely. He gasped and panted as he tried to focus. The shock and feeling of blood leaving his body was blurring his vision and making him lose his sense of balance.

He heard footsteps. He looked up.

"Well, you sure are an interesting human," the Commandant noted, dark red eyes glowing in the dark rain.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

"Lord of Light, bless this water, that with it we may give rise to new life once more. As new life rises, so shall we."

Alexander watched in silence as Hannah knelt in the center of the chamber, basked in golden light, praying and blessing the water. Alexander shook his head. Though he respected Hannah and her beliefs, he couldn't help but feel disapproval to this Temple of Light. All in all, it was exactly like the Temple of Avo; they just replaced the name 'Avo' with 'Light.'

Still, he knew the only reason he felt such disapproval was because of his uneasiness. Ever since he defeated the giant Hollow Man (he still preferred to call them Undead, but he had to adapt to the new age), his heart became disquieted. He could feel that something outside was…off. But something outside was dulling his senses, making it harder for him to understand what it was that felt so out of place. So dangerous.

_Someone tried to contact me,_ Alexander thought to himself. _Was it Roland? Why could he not get through?_ He had felt like someone tried to reach him through one of his devices and the only device he had ever given someone that could do that was his stick. But for some reason, it was blocked. Why?

"Alexander, is something wrong?" Hannah's voice broke him from his thoughts. "Your face seems…concerned." Alexander looked at Hannah for a moment.

"I have a bad feeling, Hannah," Alexander admitted. "And in my experience, when you have a bad feeling, it is always right. And it is during those times that should be on your guard."

"Come on, Alexander," Hannah chuckled as she twisted the lid back on top of the jug. "We're just collecting some bloody water. What's the worst that could happen?"

"_**Sister Hannah! Sister Hannah!"**_ A cry from beyond nearly made Hannah jump out of her skin.

"Speak of Skorm," Alexander sighed.

Hannah spun around and looked up at the top of the sloping incline that curled around the outside of the chamber. At the top was a gated doorway with gears and levers beside it. She heard a loud clank and the gate began to rise up slowly. Hannah watched the gate rise up and a hooded figure stumble through.

"Brother Timothy?" Hannah asked incredulously. "What are you doing here?"

"We're in trouble!" Timothy gasped. "We came under attack! It's Lucien's daughter! She's killed all the other monks! She's here with a dozen guards!"

"What about my father?" Hannah demanded, rushing towards the stairs. Alexander calmly walked to the bottom of the stairs, keeping his emotions in check until he knew more.

"He's still alive! But she's holding him hostage!" Timothy said, gasping for air. "She wants to use him to get you to follow her!"

"And what of Roland?" Alexander asked.

"I don't know," Timothy shook his head. "He was fighting some of the guards."

"I see," Alexander gritted his teeth in frustration. What was going on?

Hannah dropped the jar filled with water, where it crashed into the ground. Remarkably, it didn't break, but it fell onto the ground. No water splashed out due to the lid that Hannah twisted on earlier, but she didn't care. Her father was in trouble.

"I have to save my father!" Hannah exclaimed. She looked to her left and noticed a statue carrying a large weapon. A hammer. She grabbed the hammer from the statue's arms and with a roar of anger she tore it out of the statue's hands.

"Hannah!" Alexander exclaimed and he rushed up the stairs to follow her.

"C'mon! We have to get to the temple!" Hannah yelled, running past Timothy and out the door.

"Damnation," Alexander grumbled as he ran up the stairs and followed behind Hannah. Timothy coughed and followed after Alexander.

Alexander ran down the hallway, which snaked its way through the hill. He could feel the cool breeze from outside rushing through the hallway and Alexander ran forward. He could see Hannah's fear emanate off of her body and Alexander ran forward. Always, he would run forward.

Hannah panted heavily as she rushed ahead, carrying not the jug of holy water, but the hammer. She saw the opening of the cave rushing towards her and she pushed forward. She slammed into the outside air with the might of a hurricane and she felt the ground disappear beneath her feet. She leapt through the air and saw the ground rush up to meet her. Gritting her teeth, her feet slammed into the ground and she bent low. The ground cracked and a small crater formed where she landed. She could feel her legs bend under the strain of the impact. She could feel her muscles absorb the shock and she gritted her teeth even more.

_Father…_

Hannah opened her eyes and rage was etched on them. She pushed forward and ran up the hill through the rain, ignoring the pain in her legs.

"Hannah!" Alexander yelled as he rushed outside. The rain rushed down on him, instantly making his clothes and body wet. He rushed to the edge of the cliff and looked down as Hannah rushed up the hill.

_How did she survive the fall?_ _Only a hero would survive a fall of this height,_ Alexander thought to himself. Then he sighed. He had to stop her before she did something stupid. Raising his arm, he prepared to freeze her in place.

A hand grabbed his arm tightly. Alexander spun his head around in surprise. He received an even bigger one when he realized who it was.

"Scythe?" Alexander exclaimed in consternation. The corpse of a man stared at him with a grim look on his face, his lips dried up and peeled back to expose his white teeth. A familiar blue bandana wound its away across his forehead and across his nose. From underneath his blue, winter robes, pure golden armor peeked through. His hand that gripped Alexander's arm also bore a bright, golden gauntlet, gripped tightly. On his back, his signature scythe rested comfortably.

Timothy rushed outside slowly. He was out of breath and his muscles ached. He wanted to help as much as he could, but he was unsure of how long he could keep this up. He wasn't meant for this.

A withered corpse hand shot in front of his eyes.

"Sleep," Scythe whispered in a voice like a husk of a man.

Timothy closed his eyes and fell to the ground, fast asleep.

"What the hell are you doing?" Alexander demanded threateningly.

"I was asked to be here, boy," Scythe replied in turn. He nodded forward and Alexander looked forward. If he was surprised before, he was dumbfounded now.

"Sister?" Alexander asked, confused.

"Brother," the blind woman began. "We need to talk."

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

Sparrow hummed as she walked around the front of the temple, examining the donation bowl as well as the nearby alter. The Abbot was still defiant, proudly sitting upright, peaceful and serene. Sparrow did not care in the slightest for his smug attitude. Though the Abbot was composed and dignified, Sparrow's pride and arrogance was bursting at her seams. So why would she care for what the Abbot thought?

"Ooh!" Sparrow exclaimed as she looked down underneath the alter. "Well, _this_ is a surprise!"

She grabbed the object and held it up before her. It was a golden, gleaming cleaver with a green handle. Etched onto the side of the blade was an engraving of what looking like a sun rising over the horizon.

"That is the Temple of Light's most prized possession," The Abbot explained. "Given to only our most beloved disciples. It is called The Rising Sun."

"You don't say," Sparrow muttered as she hefted the sword deftly with her hand. It gleamed in the soft moonlight and rolled lightly in her fingers. "So what's its story?"

"Story?" The Abbot asked.

"Every weapon has a story," Sparrow explained. She reached behind her back and grabbed the handle of the Maelstrom and drew it out, letting out a hideous and evil cry as it was drawn. "Like this sword, the Maelstrom. It was a gift from the Temple of Shadows to me on my birthday. It's said to be forged by the First Shadows, beings far purer in their evil and their power than the ordinary shadows that haunt Albion. The monks of the Temple of Shadows said they once tried to summon one of these beings but were unable to control it. Before it disappeared into its own dimension, it slaughtered every one of them for their insolence and left its instrument of punishment as a warning to others. So, what's the Rising Sun's story?"

The Abbot was silent for a moment.

"It belonged to a man called Roamer," the Abbot said. "Said to be the greatest hero of a long extinct Southern Samarkand tribe. According to this tribe, the dawn was a sacred and beautiful thing to behold. With the light as its weapon, the Rising Sun dispenses misery and pain to the wicked and evil. Roamer's style of combat involved whirling among his enemies, shredding anyone who came in contact with the blade."

Sparrow held the Rising Sun in her right hand, while in her left, she held the Maelstrom.

"So even a pacifist temple like yours has violence in it's history," Sparrow muttered. "How hypocritical."

"So many people's past are filled with blood and horror," the Abbot replied. "So many of it forced upon people against their will. But sometimes, it's not about what you choose to do. It's about how you choose to respond to a situation. The Temple of Light helps those who choose to abandon their violence and find true inner peace. We help them accept their past and help them prepare a better future."

"A future that's agreeable in your eyes, maybe," Sparrow replied, spinning the two weapons in her hands. "The depth of your arrogance is astounding."

"Excuse me?" the Abbot scoffed. "And what of the depth of _your_ arrogance?"

"Me? I'm prideful," Sparrow said, slashing the blades through the air. "Meaning I'm filled with pride. I'm proud of myself. I'm proud of my body, proud of my skills, proud of my way of life. But you? You're arrogant. You look down on everyone. You think one way is the right way and that everyone around you is wrong to think otherwise. This world is vast and infinite, so there can't _possibly_ be more than one way to view the universe and how we view our place in the world! There can't possibly be more than one way of living your life!"

"So you would have people condemned to a life of violence and murder?" the Abbot asked. "A society where people spill the blood of their brothers to get ahead in life?"

"I would have them choose for themselves what to do with their lives," Sparrow juggled the weapons in the air, her hair dancing with the moves of her forms. "Instead of blackmailing them to give you a few extra coins in exchange for a pleasant afterlife."

"My way of life brings peace and happiness to people," the Abbot replied. "What does your way of life bring but pain and suffering."

"My way of life brings truth," Sparrow shot back, eyes filled with rage. "Your way would have them live in caves, bereft of the truth that life is chaotic. Life isn't supposed to be anything you plan for. You can try, but most of the time you'll fail."

"Is that how you justify the murder of innocent people?" the Abbot asked.

"No," Sparrow replied, testing the weight of the weapons. "I justify it by saying 'No one is innocent.'" The Abbot shook his head.

"Why bother asking if all you're going to do refute everything I say?" the Abbot asked.

"I'm bored and it's amusing to turn your beliefs on their heads," Sparrow answered.

"You may say all those things," the Abbot began. "But I've seen your eyes. Deep within your eyes. And I saw pain. Something about this life of your pains you deeply. Maybe you don't enjoy this senseless killing as much as you think. You fare the façade of a mindless killer, but your eyes give you away. There is something about this life that pains you. Maybe you just don't know it yet."

For once, Sparrow was silent.

"Mistress," Commandant 99 announced as he strode inside. With his right hand, he dragged the body of a man after him. Blood followed after the body, leaving a long streaking trail of it as it was dragged across the marble floor. "You may be interested in this one."

"I thought I said to kill any who come up the road," Sparrow stated, walking towards the Commandant.

"As I said, I thought you might be interested by this one," 99 replied, shoving the body down onto the ground. The body groaned as it tried to push itself up. "He managed to completely maim and destroy 5 of the Guards. But we managed to bloody him within an inch of his life. He was armed only with this." 99 threw an object onto the ground, where it rolled across the bloodied floor and tapped against Sparrow's feet.

It was a wooden stick. Sparrow stared at it for a long time before looking up at the body.

"Is he still alive?" Sparrow asked, hoping her voice didn't crack.

"I made sure of it," 99 answered dutifully. "I thought you might want to interrogate him, since he was the man who was left behind by the man who went inside the cave with the Hero of Strength."

"Right," Sparrow nodded slowly. "Keep watch outside. I'll have a few words with this man."

99 bowed and walked out of the temple. Sparrow waited for him to leave before she walked to the man's side. Gently, she rolled him onto his back and she saw his face.

"Roland," Sparrow sighed. "What're you doing here?"

"I was supposed to keep guard of this place," Roland said weakly. "Guess I didn't do a very good job, huh?" Sparrow shook her head.

"Your wounds are deep, but they'll heal," Sparrow told him reassuringly. "Unfortunately, you'll have to bear with the pain for a few more minutes. When I leave, I'm sure you'll receive help from your friends. I'm sorry, Roland. But I can't have you interfering more than you already have. Just pretend you're dead and you should be fine."

"Why?" Roland whispered. "Why are you doing this? You killed all these people. Why?" Sparrow said nothing for a few moments.

"Because my father asked me to," Sparrow told him, a hint of sadness in her voice. "For the future he has planned for Albion. He will drag its people to happiness whether they want to or not."

"And sacrificing innocent people?" Roland asked.

"No one's innocent, Roland. You of all people should know that," Sparrow told him. "We grew up in the same place, afterall."

"Is that why you're doing this?" Roland asked. "Because your father asked you to? Is this vengeance for your life in the slums? Do you even know?"

Sparrow sighed and gently ran her fingers down his forehead and cheek, feeling his skin.

"Why did you have to get involved?" Sparrow asked, shaking her head.

"You know, I ask myself the same thing," Roland replied, wincing in pain. "The only answer I can come up with was that I'm a bard."

"Oh? And how many epics have you composed, my lyrical bard?" Sparrow teased.

"I'm working on it," Roland retorted, bringing a smile to Sparrow's face. Silence fell between the two of them for a moment.

"How did we grow so far apart?" Sparrow asked.

"You never left the castle," Roland replied. "After Lucien grabbed you, you suddenly didn't have any time to hang out with the other urchins. You were learning to be a lady, though, in my honest and most humble opinion, they failed. By the end, Lucien had changed you so much we no longer mattered to you. We were just an unhappy memory."

"Funny," Sparrow said. "Every memory I have of you was happy."

"Why are you doing this, Sparrow?" Roland asked, pleadingly. Sparrow sighed and stood up.

"Because I am the daughter of Lord Lucien," Sparrow stated proudly. "And I have a duty to obey and protect my father. To protect his vision of a perfect and happy world."

"Would you kill me if I got in your way?" Roland asked.

"In a heartbeat," Sparrow replied. "But as long as you don't, I won't have to. I can't say the same for your friend, Alexander."

There was a loud commotion outside, the air being filled with the sounds of yelling and the ringing of metal on metal. Sparrow glanced outside and whistled. From the door, Fang came running in to the side of his mistress.

"It looks like your daughter returns, Abbot," Sparrow exclaimed with a smile. "Come, let us go see what she is doing!"

Sparrow walked up to the Abbot and grabbed him firmly by his hair, hauling him up to his feet. The Abbot cried out in pain and was unwillingly pulled along. Whistling a tune to herself, she walked on, the Maelstrom and the Rising Sun strapped firmly on her back and the Red Dragon strapped to her hip. There was a brief moment when her veins lit up with a blue light, but within that brief moment, it was gone.

Roland watched helplessly as they strode out of the temple and into the pouring rain. He grunted as he rolled back onto his front, wincing in pain. In frustration, he punched his fist into the ground and spat out blood. He looked up and saw the wooden stick. In pain and agony, he crawled slowly towards his only weapon.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

"Sister," Alexander said cautiously, pulling his arm away from the walking corpse. "Now is not the time. Unless you have suddenly lost your second sight, you should no doubt be aware that we are under attack."

"Oh, I know," Theresa replied. "I am fully aware of the situation. Sparrow has a platoon of her father's army holding the Abbot hostage and is going to use the Hero of Strength's father to make Hannah come with her to the Spire. Believe me, I am fully aware of the situation."

"Then what in Avo's name are we doing standing around?" Alexander asked contemptuously. "I need to protect her."

"Believe me, brother, she does not need as much protection as you think she does. Well, at least, not yet."

"Make sense, sister! If you will not, then I will be on my way."

"And that is why I am here," Scythe's husky voice pierced Alexander's body, but he refused to be swayed. Alexander looked at Scythe and then at Theresa.

"Sister," Alexander asked. "What is skin and bones here talking about?"

"You wish to go to the Temple of Light and rescue the Abbot and Hannah from certain doom? Scythe and I are here to stop you."

Alexander looked again from Scythe to Theresa, staring at the two of them. He looked over in the direction of the Temple of Light. Realization dawned on him as he put the many pieces together. And his eyes widened.

"Theresa," Alexander asked, voice barely a whisper. "What have you done?"

"I informed Lucien of the current location of the Hero of Strength," Theresa said simply.

"You did **what!**" Alexander exclaimed. "You let our enemy know where Hannah was? So he could send his army here to massacre the innocent people here!"

"I had good reasons," Theresa replied.

"I do not care for whatever _reason_ you think you had! People died this night! Innocent people who did not have to! Their blood is on _both_ of your hands!"

"Do not talk to me about blood, boy," Scythe said harshly. "I have sacrificed much more than you ever did."

"I-I cannot _believe _my own sister would do this!"

"We needed a warrior, brother," Theresa cut in. "You saw Hannah. She was a pacifist monk. She would never join our cause. And our need is great. Lucien moves closer to the completion of the Spire with each passing day. The Three Heroes are the keys to Lucien's victory."

"_**They are not objects! They are ordinary human beings!"**_ Alexander screamed in Theresa's face. "They are not pawns to be moved about as we see fit."

"You have so much to learn about what it means to be an Archon, boy," Scythe said. "The Archons protect the world from the dangers of the Shadow Court. Or have you forgotten what happened when one of them was loose on this world! Your mother and countless others were slaughtered for the Jack's mad schemes! If we must slaughter a thousand human beings to protect the borders of this world from the Shadows, we will do it in a heartbeat!"

"_**Why!**_ _**Why must we go to such lengths! There is always another way that avoids massacres upon massacres! Who made us so damned important that we are above all sacred life?"**_

"Our mother," Scythe said. "The Archon's mother. Albion's mother. This world's mother. The one who wrote all the laws concerning our lives and defined the borders between the Void and Albion! The one we all answer to when we die!"

"And once again, the great Scythe makes no sense whatsoever!" Alexander cried out sarcastically. "His words twist in and out, ignoring the real issue! I know the Archons are meant to protect this world! And how can we do that if we kill them all in the process?"

"We are not going to massacre anyone, brother," Theresa cut in before they started destroying each other. "We require only one death."

"Interesting how you just completely disregarded the other people who were killed because of you," Alexander stated flatly.

"They were killed by Sparrow and her men," Theresa stated. "But I do take responsibility for their deaths. They died because I gave information to Lucien. That is my burden. But to be clear, brother, only one specific person in Hannah's life must die."

"And who is that?" Alexander asked. Theresa took a step forward.

"Who was the most important person in your life when the bandits overran Oakvale?" Theresa asked simply. Alexander's eyes widened.

"_The Abbot?_ You want them to kill her father? Destroy the one person she loves above all else!" Alexander breathed.

"It is the only way for her to become the warrior we need her to be," Theresa explained. "We kill the only link she has with the Temple of Light."

"No," Alexander said, pushing his lips together. "I cannot let that happen. I will not. I remember to well the pain I went through when our father died. I will not subject that girl to the same pain."

"Do you think I don't know the pain she'll go through?" Theresa asked sternly. "I went through the exact same pain, except I could not cry my pain away. My eyes had been cut out. I know exactly the kind of pain she'll go through. And she will master it and become the warrior we need her to be. That the world will need her to be."

Alexander stared at his sister for a long time. He took a deep breath and inhaled the scent of the world around him.

"I cannot do this," Alexander said defiantly as he strode past his sister.

"Where are you going, brother?" Theresa asked, though she already knew the answer.

"To stop this madness," Alexander replied. "If the world will burn because of it, I will still be able to sleep tonight. I cannot say the same for the two of you."

"I will sleep soundly tonight," Scythe said. "Knowing I have done my duty."

Alexander had a split second to react before Scythe slammed into his body a mighty, gauntleted fist into Alexander's stomach. Though he managed to summon his platinum armor around his torso before the blow landed, he could still feel the fist resonate throughout his body. He coughed as the air rushed out of him and gritted his teeth.

Alexander shot out his hand and grabbed Scythe by the throat and his veins glowed a violent blue. He pushed Scythe high into the sky as the shockwave shot him towards the ground. He landed with a thud as rocks, dirt and mud shot in all directions. He coughed as he rolled back onto his feet.

Suddenly, he felt something grab his chest and he was pulled up into the air by an invisible string. The rain prickled his skin, as he was sent higher and higher into the sky. Before him, as he entered the darkened sky, a lightning raced across the clouds and a blackened silhouette of Scythe's form appeared before him. And his fist was waiting.

His gauntleted fist collided with Alexander's jaw, cracking it. However, the force of Scythe's pull was still present in Alexander's body, so the punch caused him to twist and turn as he ascended at a fast rate. Angrily, Alexander shot out lightning from his fingertips, screaming in rage and frustration. Scythe snarled as fire erupted from his hand.

Theresa sighed as she watched the fight between the two. She had faith that Scythe would not harm her brother too much. Unlike Alexander, he had a thousand years to develop a sense of control. She looked down towards the Temple of Light, preparing herself for what was to come.

When she was younger, her eyes had been cut out and she could not cry. But after her eyes healed, she found that she could still cry those tears that needed to flow. And tonight, her tears met with the rain.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

Hannah was enraged and furious as the guards ran towards her. Roaring at the top of her lungs, the large woman slammed the hammer sideways, smashing the bones of the guards who attacked her. Three went down in one blow, smashing across their shoulders and ribs, breaking them in half. Hannah didn't care.

_Father…_

She rain up the hill as the rain poured down against her face as she ran up the hill. Her feet dug into the dirt road, slipping and sliding against the mud. She slipped and almost fell a few times, but she continued to run forward.

_Father…_

Four guards ran towards here while two hung back with their pistols, taking careful aim. Hannah ignored them, blind rage taking over her functions. Screaming, she raised the hammer above her head and slammed it down on the guard's head, crushing it instantly. Stepping around, she spun the hammer around and slammed it straight into the side of another guard. The third guard ran up and tried to stab Hannah in the chest. Hannah kicked him in the groin before the blade reached her and she grabbed his throat. Roaring, she threw him against the fourth guard, knocking them both over the cliff.

_Father!_

The two guards at the top of the hill fired their guns, adding bullets to the air of rain. Hannah's rage had engulfed her now and she ignored them. If they didn't hit her, why should she care? Her father was in danger and she would see them dead before they laid a hand on her father. She ran up the hill, running straight into the two gunmen. Bullets tore through her arms and shoulders, but she ignored them, the pain dulled in the sight of her rage.

_Father!_

Hannah roared as she leapt into the air, holding the hammer above her head. The guards had about a second to react before her shadow engulfed theirs. With the might that could rival the hero Thunder, Hannah slammed the hammer into the ground between the two, forcing a crater and sending cracks in the ground in all directions. The shockwave blew away the rain, causing an odd sensation of dryness for a brief second.

"_**Father!"**_ Hannah screamed as she spun the hammer around her, slamming the guards away and out of her sight forever. The dryness ended and the rain returned, striking her multiple times across her body. The hammer rested on the ground as she panted and heaved in breaths of air. Blood ran down her arms and shoulders where the bullets pierced her, mixing with the rain and water. She continued to breath in deeply.

"I can see why you're the Hero of Strength, Pilgrim," a voice called out to her.

Hannah spun around and hefted the hammer back into her hands. Before her and in front of the entrance to the Temple of Light stood Sparrow, her Red Dragon pistol out and pointing at the Abbot. To the Abbot's left stood the Commandant, head covered with a black hat, but with red eyes glowing underneath the brim. And to Sparrow's right stood the last remaining guard, hands trembling slightly. His fellow guards had just been killed.

"Hannah," the Abbot breathed. "How could you?"

"Father! Are you alright?" Hannah asked.

"You have taken the lives of your fellow people!" the Abbot exclaimed. "You have broken your vows!"

"Well, you can't really blame here, Abbot," Sparrow said. "My men were coming to kill her, after all. She just reacted to the situation. As we all would. And don't pretend that if someone was going to attack you, that you would just turn the other cheek."

"Let my father go!" Hannah demanded.

"Or you'll do what?" Sparrow asked. "Kill me? Right in front of your father? Oh, I don't think he can take anymore heartache."

"What do you want?" Hannah asked.

"You," Sparrow replied simply. "I've been tasked with bringing you back to my father. Now, this can end in two different ways. You can come with me peacefully and I let your father go. Or you do something stupid, in which case, I kill your father, break your joints and drag you to _my_ father. He didn't specify on the manner of which you were to be delivered."

The sky above crackled and exploded with lightning.

"But, why don't we go inside?" Sparrow stated. "It's getting rather dangerous outside."

Sparrow smirked as she turned around and dragged the Abbot after him. The Commandant jerked his head sideways, signaling the guard to follow. Then he waited patiently for Hannah. He held out a hand towards the door.

"After you," 99 growled.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

Alexander was bleeding. For the first time since he had been brought back to this world, he was bleeding profusely. The blood was coming from his nose, from the cuts on his face, everywhere. He was bleeding but he wasn't dead. He couldn't say the same for Scythe who should have been dead a long time ago, but Alexander wasn't dead.

Alexander roared as he rushed across the ground, running straight towards Scythe. He was a blur, a beam of light that streaked across the land. Alexander would appear right behind Scythe and surprise him. But this dance was familiar to Scythe, who had written many of the spells that Alexander was using.

When Alexander appeared behind him, Scythe's elbow slammed into his nose, breaking it again. Alexander coughed as he stumbled backwards and Scythe followed up with several blows to his stomach, forcing Alexander to double over. Scythe regarded his enemy for a moment before slamming his elbow into Alexander's neck, slamming him into the mud with a forceful crack.

Alexander coughed and sputtered as he rested his weary body on the ground. He couldn't even summon any of the weapons he had in his pocket, not that they would be of any use against a man like Scythe.

"It is pointless, boy," Scythe told him.

"Well, I would not be a hero if I gave up because someone told me fighting was pointless," Alexander shot back.

"Out of all the Archons that ever existed, you were always the most troublesome," Scythe admitted. "You always fought against what was expected of you. Fought against what was necessary to survive."

"I fight against injustice and what is simply not right," Alexander replied. "And this. _This_ is not right."

"You have so much to learn, boy," Scythe shook his head. "There is a great difference between what you _feel_ is right, and what you _know_ is right. What you _feel_ is right may be to protect the innocent Abbot from his fate. But what we _know_ is right is to protect the countless thousands who will die if he does not. So I ask you this, _hero_, what would you do if tomorrow, a million people died because one person today did not? Would you hold yourself responsible?"

"I would hold my head up high, knowing that I did not betray myself," Alexander retorted. "That I did not lose who I was to madness."

"Willfully turning aside from the truth is treason to one's self," Scythe responded. "And you, boy, are turning aside from the reality of the situation for idealistic fancies. You are trying so hard to hold yourself to hero that you always wished you could be. To be the hero that that bard sees in you. That the world sees in you. But that is not who you are. What the world views you as, is a god. A deity. But the Archons were never meant to be gods. They were always meant to be mortal men with flesh and blood. And only now do you realize this."

"And all the times that I have laid near death on the side of the road meant nothing to me, apparently," Alexander said sarcastically. Scythe reached down and grabbed the hero's collar, pulling him up from the mud and holding him up to his level.

"That is not what I meant," Scythe said. "I speak of the conflict that is raging within your heart. An all too human conflict. This is what I feared would happen when you were brought back. You see, you have no stake in this world. No ties that bind you to this world anymore. Your time had come and gone. You were supposed to have been dead. And now that you are back, you no longer feel any empathy towards this world. Their times are different, their customs are different, even their styles of hair are different. There is no way you can survive in this world. Their styles are not yours; their customs are not yours. You feel as if you do not care in the slightest about these people. And how can you save anyone when you do not even know why you should?"

For once, Alexander had no words. No witty retorts, no angry comment. Because Scythe was right. Much as he loathed admitting it, he was right. Alexander had no claim to this world. His time had come and gone. He was not supposed to be here any longer. But he was. And he didn't know why.

"The only way you will survive is if you view this world through unbiased eyes," Scythe told him. "Hold to your Neutrality as a pure Archon would. If you do not, all you will find is heartache and pain as this world cruelly chews you up and spits you out."

"If I do that," Alexander whispered. "Would I become as heartless as you?"

Scythe said nothing and dropped Alexander back into the mud. He turned around and walked away.

"I am done with this fool," Scythe proclaimed as he disappeared from sight.

Alexander lay in the mud, allowing the rain to pummel his bloodied face, washing away the blood but not the wounds. Wounds never disappeared that fast. After a moment, he pushed himself up and sat on his bottom, staring at his hands.

"Useless," Alexander muttered.

"No," Theresa whispered. "Not useless. Just misguided."

She walked up to Alexander and sat down next to him.

"I hate it when that man is right," Alexander grumbled.

"I know," Theresa nodded. "But he is not always right."

"How else can I protect others if I do not become like him?" Alexander pleaded.

"Do you think I am like him, brother?" Theresa asked.

"I…" Alexander stammered.

"I may agree with some of what he says, but I do not have the same heart he has," Theresa explained. "Do you think I came to this decision lightly? No, I dove into the web of time, seeking other possibilities, other ways that this could be avoided. And it pained me to admit, but this was the only way. Any other way would have lead to our destruction. And even as I sit here, my hear breaks into pieces. I am torn apart by what I know is the right thing to do and what I feel is the right thing to do. Because these choices are never easy. Between the death of a 100 or a death of 1000. How can anyone make that choice? How can anyone make that choice? Only the Archons were ever meant to make these choices. Because we must."

"Why are you telling me this?" Alexander asked. Theresa was silent for a moment.

"Because," Theresa began slowly, tears streaming down her face. "I don't want you to hate me."

Alexander sighed and wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close.

"I may disagree with you," Alexander said. "I may yell and I may scream, but I will never hate you."

Theresa blinked and closed her eyes tightly, hugging her brother as tight as she could.

"It won't be long now," Theresa whispered. And Alexander bit his lip in pain and frustration.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

"So what is your answer, Pilgrim?" Sparrow asked, twirling her hair. She sat on the alter with one leg crossed over the other, while Fang lay by her feet. 99 stood to her left while Hans stood to her right. In front of them, Hannah knelt beside the injured Roland, who was struggling to push himself onto his feet. The Abbot sat on his knees between Sparrow and Hannah.

"We are wasting time, mistress," 99 argued. "Let's just tie her up and go."

"You can try!" Hannah proclaimed, gripping her hammer tightly.

"And he'll win, I'm sure of it," Sparrow said. "But I'd rather you make the choice, rather than have us decide for you."

"It isn't much of a choice, is it?" Hannah stated.

"You're lucky I'm giving you a choice at all," Sparrow replied. "So choose quickly. Your friend should be here shortly."

"Don't," whispered Roland, weakly and covered in blood. Hannah had to kneel down by his side to hear him. "Lucien wants to use you to destroy this world."

"That's not how I would have explained it, bard," 99 commented.

"Lucien will remake this world as it should have been," Sparrow explained. "A world of happiness without despair, without death, where all you desire is but a wish away. That's not so bad, is it? Imagine a world where all you ever wanted could be yours with just a thought."

"The road to get there will be paved in blood," Hannah said.

"And what of the road you walked on to get here? You killed my men to save your father," Sparrow said. "They all had wishes and aspirations too. But you snatched them away for your own happiness. What my father does is the same, but he wishes happiness for all of Albion, not just for himself."

"You're twisting the truth to suit your own goals!" Hannah exclaimed.

"And yet, I never have to twist it much," Sparrow noted. "Just a little. You want to be difficult? Fine."

She drew her pistol and shot the Abbot in the leg. The Abbot screamed as the shot resounded throughout the hall.

"_**Father!"**_ Hannah screamed.

"I have powers that can heal your daddy in a heartbeat and I have powers that can break him in half," Sparrow told her. "Which ones I use are up to you. Make your choice."

Tears of rage formed by her eyes as Hannah tried her best to think rationally. It was difficult as her emotions were scattered all about her. What should she do? What should she do?

"Hannah, my daughter," the Abbot whispered. "It's alright. It's going to be alright."

"Father!" Hannah breathed. "What should I do?"

"Hannah," the Abbot smiled. "Just do what you feel is right. I know you daughter. And no matter what you may have done, I have always been proud of you. You have always loved to fight with other people, even when I forbade you do so. Even after you took your vows of pacifism. My daughter. I don't know if the Temple of Light is the correct way to live. All I ever offered was an opinion. I never tried to force you to think one way over another. All I ever could do was guide you in the way that I wished you to be. In the end, you have to make the choice of what you want to do with your life. Though I may disagree with some things, it is still your choice. Just know, that whatever you choose, I will always be proud of you."

Hannah sobbed as the Abbot smiled warmly.

The bullet blasted into his head, killing him instantly.

"Nauseating," 99 grumbled, the smoke emanating from his gun.

"What are you doing?" Sparrow demanded while Fang sat up in surprise.

"Hurrying this along," 99 explained simply. "This is taking too long."

"You obey my commands! You fire when I tell you to!" Sparrow exclaimed.

"No," 99 went on. "I obey the commands of Lord Lucien above all else. We went with your way first but now diplomacy is at an end. Hans, tie her up. Break her if you have to."

"Yes sir," Hans muttered.

Hannah stared at the destroyed head of her father. Her father. Her father. Her father.

Her father…

"_**I'm gonna kill every one of you!"**_ Hannah screamed as she charged forward, bringing her hammer up to face her enemy. Rage consumed her now and the Hero of Strength was once again unleashed.

"Hannah!" Roland exclaimed and found the strength to push himself up. Hans reacted by bringing his pistol up towards his target.

Hans pulled the trigger as Roland threw himself at Hannah, bringing himself between Hans and Hannah. Hannah's rage subsided as she witnessed the bullet tear into Roland's back. Hannah slipped on the blood of her fellow monks and fell to the ground as Roland collapsed in front of her.

"**Roland!"** Hannah screamed, crawling quickly to his side.

"That hurt," Roland muttered.

Sparrow stared at Roland, puzzlement and confusion written on her face. Roland had been shot. Fang worriedly looked up at Sparrow but Sparrow didn't notice. Roland hand been shot. Sparrow hopped off the alter and approached Roland's bloody form. Roland had been shot. Hannah protectively covered Roland with her arms and stared at Sparrow, hate pouring mercilessly.

But Roland had been shot.

Sparrow looked over at Hans and Hans noticed his lady looking over at him. And Hans trembled. Before, Sparrow had been a mixture of amusement and calm. But not now.

Now, her face looked like the face of death come alive to wreak havoc on Albion.

Sparrow raised the Red Dragon and shot Hans in the face, blasting him across the room. She took deep breaths, trying to control her rage but it was not so easy. Roland had been shot.

"Mistress, what have you done?" 99 asked, raising his weapon. Sparrow looked at the pale-faced man.

"You would raise your weapon against me?" Sparrow threatened.

"I would raise my weapon at any threat against Lord Lucien, as he instructed," 99 replied. "You have become emotionally compromised, my lady. Continue any further, and I will put you down."

Sparrow stared at him for only a moment. Then she shot through the temple. One moment, he was alive and the next, 99 was dead, his head crushed against the walls of the Temple of Light. Sparrow had rushed through the temple, grabbed 99's head and dragged him along as she slammed his head into the concrete. Sparrow pulled her hand away from the bloodied mess and 99's body slid out of the hole and onto the ground.

Sparrow was silent and the rain poured outside. She looked over her shoulder and saw Roland's body cradled in Hannah's arms. From the looks of it he would live.

But Roland had been shot.

Sparrow closed her eyes wearily and walked outside, leaving the two behind. Fang followed closely by his master, never judging, always loving. She walked into the rain and let it cool her face.

Alexander walked up the hill, face bloodied. Sparrow opened her eyes and looked at him.

"I knew you weren't a simple adventurer," Sparrow said with tired victory.

"You do not know the first thing about me," Alexander replied. His carefree smile was gone.

"Then who are you? A hero? Or merely someone else for me to kill?" Sparrow asked. "You were sent to protect the Hero of Strength from me, were you not? So should I destroy you here and now?"

Alexander said nothing. All he did was walk towards her.

And overwhelming fear and terror filled Sparrow down to her core and her bones. The vision that the Abbot had seen only for a moment was living in front of her. A pressure was pressing down on her, suffocating her. Before her walked a massive towering giant, clad in platinum armor, shining and gleaming in majesty and horror. On his back were two swords, one black with evil, and the other white with purity. His body was covered with a mixture of white butterflies and black flies. On top of his helmeted head was a glowing halo floating above red horns protruding from his head. And Sparrow could not see the limit of his power.

Alexander stood before her, dressed in his borrowed clothing. Rags, compared to what Sparrow wore. He looked down at her and she had a look of pure terror as sweat and rain dripped down her face.

"Do you actually think you _can_ destroy the likes of me?" Alexander asked.

Sparrow fell to her knees and Alexander sighed.

"I am sorry," Alexander apologized. "I have had a bad day. I did not mean to take it out on you."

"You're apologizing?" Sparrow asked incredulously. "Why? I am your enemy."

"Because you are like me," Alexander said sadly. "You are just as conflicted as I am."

"Conflicted? _Conflicted?"_ Sparrow scoffed as she stood up on weak knees. "I would follow my father to death! I will see his world that he has envisioned! I am not conflicted!"

"If that were true, then why can you not bring yourself to take the Hero of Strength now?" Alexander asked. "Why can you not take her, kicking and screaming, to your father? Why did you have her choose? And why did you react as you did when Roland was shot? Why did you kill your father's men when Roland was shot?"

Sparrow tried to answer, but her words caught in her throat. Alexander sighed.

"Rest, little Sparrow," Alexander told her. "Rest now. This day is done. Nothing more needs to happen. Go home and think about what I have said. Think about what you really want in life. Go and leave those who grieve to their grief."

Alexander patted her shoulder and entered the Temple of Light. He entered the temple of grief, hearing only the wailing cries of an orphaned daughter, mourning her father. And as the rain and thunder continued to mute the sounds of despair, the Sparrow and her faithful companion flew away into the night.

* * *

Would you believe me if I said it took me half the summer to write this chapter?

And if you're having trouble imagining the screech that came out of the stick when Roland talked into it, imagine back in the 90s when we still had dial-up. Now turn that sound up 10 fold. Yeah.

Do any of you even know what dial-up is? God, I feel old…

Basically, I wanted to show a different side to Sparrow, that she isn't the bloodthirsty zealot that I painted her to be. Like all human beings, she's complex and has many different faces. I think I got that message across well enough. I also wanted to show that Roland's role isn't limited to just being comedic relief.

We go into a little bit more of the mythology of the Archons a bit. Raising more questions than answering is fun! But seriously, I'll answer those questions eventually.

I thought about having a duel between Scythe and Alexander, but I thought a fistfight would do. We don't need these two getting serious and destroying mountains and crap (which they probably would do, in my opinion).

And what do you know; you've seen a glimpse of Alexander's true form…

28 pages. That's it. I'm done. *falls over dead from exhaustion*


	14. Part 13: Saying Goodbye

Disclaimer: I do not own the Fable universe or Lionhead studios.

_†_ _Part 13 __≈ Saying Goodbye†_

The sun began to set on the ocean blue horizon as the village of Oakfield mourned together for their loss. Several graves were fresh, as the bodies of the slain were laid to rest, in plain view of the beautiful golden sun and its breathtaking sunset. The town had come to mourn and to grieve, but also to celebrate. They did not only celebrate the planting of the Golden Oak, but more so they celebrated the lives of those that were lost. There was a wide range of sounds coming from them, ranging from quiet grief to bawling sorrow.

Hannah quietly knelt before her father's grave, now filled with dirt and reached forward with a heavy hand. She pushed away some of the dirt, making herself a small hole. She reached behind her and grasped the Golden Oak seed with both hands. With tired reverence, she slowly placed the seed in the hole and covered it with the dirt.

Behind her, Alexander stood tall and proud, a sullen look on his face, hands behind his back and feet spread apart in quiet relaxation. For the first time since he was ripped from the afterlife, he felt tired and he knew his eyes showed it, with dark rings and circles. His face looked blank but inside…

Beside Alexander, standing nearly a full head shorter, Roland stood carrying the lute in his hand. He had barely slept over the past few days, tossing and turning. The memories of that night continued to haunt him even while he slept. All the death and amongst it all, her face. Her face looking at him with an expression that evoked…well, he still wasn't sure how he was supposed to feel about her. He had killed innocent people and yet…he felt not anger towards her, as he thought he should have. But he continued to see the faces of the dead and…

Roland gritted his teeth and angrily brushed the tears from his eyes. Alexander watched him with eyes full of pity and placed a reassuring hand on Roland's shoulder. Roland, trying to stop the tears from flowing, bit into his thumb.

With a grunt, Hannah lifted the giant jug filled with the blessed water from the Wellspring Cave. With little difficulty, she dropped to her knee and began to pour the water from the jug onto the grave. The monks surrounding her bowed their heads in reverence as the water flowed, with the townspeople doing the same. Hannah watched as the water flowed and was absorbed into the ground. Into her father's grave.

The jug empty, Hannah placed back on the ground and stared at her father's grave, now damp with the water.

"Hey, father," Hannah whispered. "I hope you're comfortable. In the ground or wherever you are now." She smiled weakly and bowed her head. Her next few words were filled with grim determination.

"I'm sorry, Father," Hannah whispered. "I'm sorry I wasn't fast enough. I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough. I'm sorry…I wasn't strong enough to break my vow. I'm sorry I didn't break it sooner. I know I didn't have the faith you wished I did. I never did fit in at this place. We both knew that. But I know to be a good person, you must keep a vow you make. So I'm making a new vow. One I intend to keep. Lucien will die for what he did to you. I won't break this one. I swear it."

Alexander blinked wearily as he listened to her speak.

_Still so naïve,_ was all he could think.

"Sister Hannah," Timothy Lightjoy's soft voice made Hannah's head rise slightly. He bit his lip. "The Blessing." Hannah looked up at him and closed her eyes. She pushed herself back onto her feet.

"You do it," she said coldly as she turned away and gazed out towards the sea. Timothy sighed and turned towards the villagers. He stood tall for them as the new Abbott of the Temple of Light.

"Let us pray," Timothy said comfortingly. The crowd bowed their heads and clasped their hands together, following the monk's example. Roland merely bowed his head and Alexander did not respond. Timothy spoke softly, but his voice carried weight.

"As new life rises, so shall we. As the seed returns to the earth, so shall we all."

Silence fell upon the crowd as they listened to their words. Roland looked up and gripped his lute, newly bought to replace his old one.

"A long time ago, I overheard a song," Roland spoke up, voice cracking slightly. "It was apparently sung to those of noble birth who were slain. I won't pretend that I knew the Abbott. I'm still a newcomer here. But I did know, as I'm sure all of you are aware, that he had a noble spirit. With your permission, is it alright if I sing it now?"

"I have no objections if they do not," Timothy said with a soft smile, looking at the crowd. The crowd slowly shook their heads.

"Sing, bard!" one called.

"Alright," Roland gulped. "Keep in mind that this was sung a long time ago, so the language isn't…well, I have no idea what the words mean."

Roland hefted the lute up to his body and strummed a few notes. Then he cleared his voice and opened his mouth. From his mouth came a song for the slain with the lute accompanying it in perfect unison:

"_Bealocwealm hafað fréone frecan forth onsended  
Giedd sculon singan gléomenn sorgiende  
On Albion þæt he ma no wære  
His dryhtne dyrest and mæga deorost.  
Bealo... "_

Roland's voice trailed off and he gulped again.

"Oh, Light, that was just awful," Roland muttered, lowering his head and pushing his hat over his eyes. "That doesn't do it justice, not by a long shot."

"_Westu hál. Ferðu, Abbod, Ferðu."_ Alexander whispered. "That was beautiful, Roland."

Roland looked up and started in surprise. There were semblances of tears forming in Alexander's eyes as he gazed out towards the sea. He seemed out of breath as he tried to control his emotions from pouring forth. Roland could see that Alexander was thinking of his time in the past, of some nameless place in some half-remembered time. Roland wondered where he heard this song and, perhaps more importantly, what memory was so powerful that it brought the mighty Hero of Oakvale nearly to tears.

"Thanks, Roland," Hannah said over her shoulder. "It means a lot."

Roland forced a smile and turned slightly, gauging the audience. Some were in tears but he couldn't be sure if it was due to the funeral or due to his song. He did notice that some people were starting to smile a little. He decided to take credit for that.

Soon, the people began to trickle out and disperse. They all walked solemnly and silently towards the Sandgoose. Now that they had mourned the dead, they could now celebrate the life they had. They would begin to drink and shout, forgetting their cruel end, only remembering the time before. Remembering the times when they were truly happy.

Only Alexander and Roland remained by the grave, silently waiting for Hannah as she stared out at the setting sun, shining deep red across skies. The golden orb sank further beneath the distant waves. A flash of green and it disappeared, leaving only the stain of colors on the skies that would soon fade. All the while, Alexander waited for the inevitable from Hannah.

"_**Is that it!**_" Hannah screamed, spinning around, eyes red with tears. _**"After everything my father has done, we just toss him aside and forget about him?"**_

"You know that is not true, Hannah," Alexander replied calmly but sympathetically.

"_**What the hell do I know? I've never even left this bloody place!"**_ Hannah stepped forward, eyes accusatory. "My father used to tell me that the world is a good place, filled with light. That our evil is only made out of fear, hate and jealousy. That if we rejected those negative emotions, then we could live to our fullest potential! He dedicated his life to that one philosophy _**and look what happened to him! It betrayed him! And now he's dead!"**_

"Your father was a noble man," Alexander told her. "He was dedicated to one truth. One ideal that defined his life. And in the end, he did not waver. He did not back down. He fought for that one ideal with his life. Was his sacrifice truly in vain? Or did this one ideal make him stronger than any sword?"

"_**Stop speaking in riddles!"**_ Hannah screamed. "All I know is that my father is dead. Dead because of that _**bitch!**_ Her gun was stronger than words or ideals. The fact that my father is dead is proof enough that passivity and peace doesn't work. If you have something worth protecting, you **fight**for it! With every inch of your body and soul! You can't just let people walk over you!"

"Then what will you do?" Alexander asked. Hannah pressed her lips together as tears began to drip from her eyes. Roland turned away, unable to watch her agony. Alexander looked at her straight in her eyes.

"What can I do?" Hannah pleaded. "The Golden Oak is flourishing now. Everything my father worked for has come to pass. What can I possibly do now? I'm…so angry. I can't…I can't even think about what happens next. But life just keeps going on! What can I do! I don't…"

Hannah hung her head and began to weep, sniffling and sobbing. But she still stood on her feet. Alexander closed his eyes and breathed. Roland wiped his eyes.

"The other monks may believe that life continues to go on," Theresa spoke. "But you know differently, don't you?"

Hannah started as she heard Theresa's voice and spun around. Roland turned to look at her, surprised at her sudden appearance. Alexander regarded her with a blank face.

"Where…Where did you come from?" Hannah asked.

"Where I come from is not nearly as important as your next question," Theresa stated.

"Who are you?" Hannah asked.

"Someone who can tell you much about Sparrow," Theresa said. "And by association, Lucien, the true designer of your fate. Where they are. What their plans are."

Alexander turned his back on the conversation. He felt too angry to watch. Hannah was entranced instantly, however. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she took a tentative but curious step forward.

"Which are?" Hannah asked.

"Before I can tell you, you must understand that there are greater forces at work here," Theresa said from beneath the cowl of her cloak. "Forces that have not revealed themselves. Yet. To them, your father and the monks here was nothing more than necessary casualties for their cause. They will not stop until they accomplish what they desire. You may come into this fight with the intent of revenge, but I need you to fight for the good of all of Albion. If you wish me to tell you about Lucien, you must be fully invested in the cause. That means that once you commit, there is no turning back. Those are my terms."

Alexander didn't need to look behind him to see that Hannah had already made up her mind.

"I'll do whatever it takes," Hannah said, eyes brimming with determination. "I will not let my Father die for nothing. I will avenge him even if it takes me my entire life. If you want me, I'm your girl. Just tell me everything you know."

"Then I will welcome your aid, Sister Hannah," Theresa said, bowing her head slightly. Hannah clenched her fists and tightened her jaw. Roland looked at her, knowing that he was witnessing something profound.

"Call me Hammer," she said. And Roland knew that Hannah had disappeared. Probably forever. The woman in front of him now was not the woman he met the previous day. It struck him then how an entire life can change after one night. After one bad night, a life can be destroyed while another life can be born. Hannah's life was destroyed last night. Hammer's life was born right in front of him. Sadly, he looked over at Alexander and wondered if he had a similar experience. What if all the great heroes in stories and legends also had one bad night? If they didn't, what kind of life would they be leading now, he wondered.

"Then the first thing you must do," Theresa said. "Is enjoy your last night in your home. Tomorrow morning we will be waiting at the Rookridge Road, by the carriages."

"What? We can't leave now?" Hammer asked.

"You will never return here," Theresa said simply. Hammer felt the shock of the statement seep into her bones. A cool breeze blew through her fiery red hair. She felt a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"Some people do not get the chance to say good-bye," Alexander said simply. Hannah regarded his statement and sighed.

"I'll…start packing," Hammer said. She nodded and turned around. After a last moment by her father's grave, she turned and walked away, leaving Theresa, Roland and Alexander to ponder. Roland looked from Theresa to Alexander, sensing a tension of some kind. Her hood covered Theresa's head and Alexander was looking out after Hammer as she walked down the hill. The silence, however, was almost unbearable for some reason.

"What are you thinking, brother?" Theresa asked.

"Many things, sister," Alexander replied.

"You are angry," Theresa stated.

"You can _see_ that, can you, seer?" Alexander snapped harshly.

"You are my brother," Theresa stated again. "I could always tell what you were thinking, even before my eyes were cut out. You are angry."

"I am," Alexander conceded flatly. "I am frustrated, furious, saddened and so much more. There is a hurricane of emotions raging in my mind that I need to put down before it gets out of hand. Why? Because I love you, sister. I love you with all my heart and I would never do anything to hurt you. I can never hate you. But I am afraid…that I cannot forgive you for what you have allowed to happen. I…I need time, sister. Time to…sort myself out."

Roland didn't know what they were talking about, but he knew better than to interfere. So he kept quiet and allowed them to talk, keeping his opinions to himself. Theresa turned her head towards Alexander's position and looked at him without eyes.

"Take all the time you need, brother," Theresa said finally.

"No," Alexander said. "I will give myself until tomorrow morning. If I had unlimited time, I would take forever. I will have until tomorrow morning."

"I believe," Theresa said after a moment's thought. "That there is an area that you might find…satisfying for your needs. Northeast of here. You can feel it, can you not?"

"My thoughts exactly, seer," Alexander sighed. "I will see you in the morning." Without a glance behind him, he stuck his hands in his pockets and began to walk down the hill, away from the grave and the acorn planted in the ground, the reminders of his supposed failure.

Roland watched Alexander stalk off down the hill with the setting sunlight beating down on his back. He scratched his beard and looked over at Theresa. Theresa had turned around and faced the ocean. Roland looked down sadly.

"Well…I guess I'll see you tomorrow, then," Roland said awkwardly.

"You still wish to stay?" Theresa asked.

"I said I would stay and I will. Simple as that," Roland said. "I won't run, even…even after everything has happened."

"Then I will see you tomorrow," Theresa stated after a moment's pause. Roland nodded and turned around, hurrying after Alexander. Theresa stood at the edge of the cliff, staring at the ocean. Then, in a flash of light, she disappeared from the cliff, leaving only the grave with the newly planted acorn behind.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

Roland ran to catch up to Alexander, who was fast walking past the Sandgoose tavern. A few people called to the bard, asking for him to play more songs along with their drinking. Roland told them he would be by later, that he had to take care of some other business first. This was only partly true. In truth, he wanted to know what was going through Alexander's mind. Ever since last night, he seemed very upset. It was natural, after all, to feel upset about it. It was a terrible night for everyone. Alexander seemed to be taking it pretty hard, though. Roland just wanted to make sure he was all right.

It occurred to Roland that despite their time together, Roland didn't know a thing about the Hero of Oakvale. The only things he did know about Alexander came from the myths and legends that surrounded the man, and he knew all too well that not all stories are true. Did the Hero of Oakvale slay a rock troll with his bare hands? Did he really slay a dragon? Where did the truth start and the myth end? He didn't know. What he did know, however, was that he couldn't look at Alexander and think of him as a myth. He had to think of him as a man.

Roland finally caught up to Alexander but kept back by a few paces so as to give him the space he seemed to want desperately. They walked along the path with the sun setting on the horizon, giving the wheat and barley a last glimmer of gold before disappearing for the night. The green of the leaves became less and less vibrant as the moon revealed her face to the world.

"Do you know what a Demon Door is, bard?" Alexander asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

"Oh, um…well, Demon Doors are simply doors of stone that keep treasure behind them," Roland said. "The doors are alive and only open when something very specific happens, such as answering a riddle or performing a specific action."

"That is only scratching the surface, bard," Alexander said. "In truth, the original function of the Demon Door was to provide a safe haven from danger that was not, shall we say, in the same world."

"What do you mean?" Roland asked. Alexander opened his hand and within it, popped Arken's Crossbow.

"Just like how I have a space where I keep all my equipment, so to does the space behind the Demon Door," Alexander explained. "The space does not exist in this world, nor does it exist in the Void. The Demon Doors are, in essence, portals to these areas so naturally; they were kept as places where anyone could hide anything of value. But they were designed simply as places of refuge from the dangers of the world."

They turned a corner and Alexander faced the rock wall they had been following. Roland stood behind Alexander and followed his eyes. At first it was nothing more than a rock wall. Then, the wall began to move and churn as rocks began to move into their specific areas. Roland's jaw dropped and his eyes widened as the rock wall formed the image of a large, bearded face. With a loud yawn, the face opened its eyes.

"Who's there?" the Demon Door said in a deep voice. "I was dreaming about…oh, it's gone now. So what do you want?"

"Hello there, door," Alexander said with a smile. "Glad to see some things haven't changed."

"Who are you…" the Demon Door gasped as he saw who it was. "Lord Alexander! Why I thought you were dead!"

"I was," Alexander said. "But as you can see, I am quite well. And how are you?"

"Well, bored, to be honest," the Demon Door said. "No one has come here in, oh…a few hundred years, I guess. As such, your home is quite untouched. You should find it just the way you left it."

"Perfect," Alexander said with a smile.

"And might I say, what a pleasure it is to see you again after all this time, my lord," the Demon Door smiled. Then with a deep breath, he split in half, with the two halves sliding away from the split. Roland shielded his eyes as a bright light began to shine brightly through the split. As the doors opened, Roland began to see shimmering colors that swirled in a circular fashion.

"Just like old times, friend," Alexander said with a smile.

"Yes, you must remember to tell me all about where you have been all this time, my lord!" the Demon Door replied, his face split in half.

"Would not miss it," Alexander said. "Oh! Where are my manners? This is my good friend, Roland."

"Uh…hello," Roland said cautiously.

"A pleasure to see a new face," the Demon Door seemed to nod as he spoke. "Please remember to wipe your feet."

Alexander laughed and grabbed Roland. Before he could protest, Alexander shoved him into the light. Roland shrieked and closed his eyes, thinking that he would slam head first into…something. Maybe into a wall of light. Instead, he fell straight to the ground where he felt little fingers of grass tickle his cheek. Slowly, Roland opened his eyes and gazed around his surroundings.

Within the demon door, there was a darkening sky that mirrored the sky outside. The grass was lush and green with flowers dotting the hills. There was the sound of chirping birds and Roland looked up, seeing them fly off into the watercolor sky of painted purple and blue, the sun disappearing and giving rise to the pale white moon. He heard the sounds of a babbling pond nearby, and he noticed that there was water coming down from some unseen spring atop a rock wall. It emptied to a dark but clear pond that was filled with fish and wildlife.

"Peaceful, is it not?" Alexander asked as he walked past, his shoes crunching the grass. Roland stood up slowly and breathed in deeply. The air seemed so fresh inside the demon door, much fresher than the air outside. It was as if no one had even touched this place in a thousand years.

"I feel so…" Roland drifted off in awe.

"There is will here," Alexander said. "A very old kind of will. A very pure kind. Untouched by the Shadows beyond." Roland didn't know what he meant by 'the Shadows beyond' but he agreed with everything else Alexander had said. This place was by far the purest place he had been to. He felt like he could just lie on the grass and forget the world and its troubles.

"How is this possible?" Roland asked.

"The Demon Doors were made to be places of refuge," Alexander said simply. "They were meant to be peaceful. Out of all the Demon Doors I have opened, though, this is by far the most peaceful. One can truly find serenity here. Ah! The house is still here!"

Alexander jogged down the hill and towards the distant house, which had become lit with orange flame. Roland guessed that had something to do with magic as well, seeing as no one had been in here for perhaps 500 years. Smiling to himself, he ran after Alexander and entered through the door behind him.

The inside of the house was cool and quite attractive. With furniture that anyone of any standard could appreciate, the interior was decorated with soft colors that bounced off the wood, which looked as new as any young sapling. As soon as Roland stepped foot inside, he immediately felt at home, as if the air itself was kissing his cheek and whispering in his ear to simply stay.

"Careful, bard," Alexander said with a smile. "You may find yourself lost in this place until you can not leave."

Roland shook his head back awake.

"This place is dangerous!" Roland said, suddenly aware that he would have stayed for eternity if he wanted to.

"No," Alexander replied. His voice was quiet and distant. "Just peaceful. Battle-weary men who wish for peace find their wishes answered here. And men who have known only death may find something else here. Something they thought was only a distant fading dream not designed for men such as them. Or something they never new existed. Peace. Such a simple concept but almost impossible to achieve. Found right here. In a farmhouse."

Roland realized halfway through that Alexander was no longer talking to him. And more so, Alexander was describing himself.

"Did you find peace here?" Roland asked.

"I did," Alexander said. "Or, at least, I think I did. My memories are strange. Some of them say I found peace and died here with my wife. Others say I never found this place. It is impossible to keep track of them all."

"I can't imagine what that's like," Roland said. "To have so many memories in your head."

"No, you cannot," Alexander said simply, if a little coldly. "So many different choices in life lead to so many different outcomes. And all those outcomes are lodged in this one brain. Impossible to tell what kind of man I was 500 years ago. I may have been a saint who saved every person who was in trouble and paid my dues to the Temple of Avo. I may have been a monster who slaughtered people and sacrificed travelers to the Chapel of Skorm. How can I know?"

"Well, I guess it's not about who you were then, but you are now," Roland said, trying to be helpful.

"And how can I be anyone now when I do not know who I was then?" Alexander said looking at him. Roland realized, to his amazement, that his eyes were growing red, nearing the verge of tears. "I have no template, no basis. I am but a child in this new world, and it seems I must be taught again what is right and what is wrong. Otherwise, I care not what happens to this land."

"Alexander…" Roland whispered, unsure of how to react to this. Alexander turned away and stalked out of the building, pushing past Roland roughly. Roland stammered as he followed after Alexander.

Alexander walked towards the pond and stared into its clear waters. He gazed down and saw his reflection in the water. Roland ran up behind him but stopped a few feet back, giving him the room Alexander seemed to want.

"Bard," Alexander said loudly. "What do you see when you look at me?" Roland's mouth worked for a few moments, trying to think of what to say.

"Well," he began slowly. "I see…I see a great hero. A hero who accomplished many great deeds in his life. Deeds that may have been good or evil, but regardless, were great. Deeds that may have made him out to be a god, but that doesn't stop him. He does what he wants when he wants to. He's a hero who lives for freedom."

"Is that what you see?" Alexander asked.

"Of course," Roland said.

"That's not what I see," Alexander said.

"Then what do you see?" Roland asked.

"I see," Alexander began. "I see a man. I see a man who is tired, weary and broken. A man torn from his final sleep to fight someone else's battle. A man who was called as, a boy to fight an ancient evil because it had to be fought. Because there was no one else. And fight him I did. And defeat him, I did. My time was done. I died. Sure, my enemy had claim to my soul in the end. Because I was too weak to hold on to his. He grew stronger as I died, not the other way around. My soul may have been his to toy with for all eternity, but my time was done. My task was finished. Now, I am here to fight again. I am called to fight again. To fight some new evil that someone else should have fought. But because she did not, I am called to fight her battle. I have been called to do what I was born to do. And yet, I cannot. Because I am tired."

Alexander took a step into the pond, letting the water seep into his shoes. He walked into the middle of the lake where the water rose up to his waistline and covered his hands. Roland watched him and noticed then, that his shoulders were slumped. He saw then that from behind, Alexander looked as worn and tired as an old man nearing the end. A man weary and tired.

Alexander cracked his knuckles.

The pond exploded with energy as the water burst upwards and outwards, spreading out in every direction. The force knocked Roland straight to the ground with some unseen force and water. Blinking away the spots in his eyes, Roland pushed himself back onto his arms and looked up in awe. The water was now swirling and spinning around Alexander in a tornado, spraying outward while drawing everything inward. He watched as dirt, leaves, grass and trees began to be pulled inward, swirling with the water. And in the center of this storm, Alexander stood, veins glowing blue with Will.

"I am the Hero of Oakvale." Alexander's voice boomed with what sounded like a thousand roars. "My father was Brom the woodsman. My mother was Scarlet Robe, slayer of balverines. My sister is Theresa, the seer. I watched as my village was burned to the ground. I have been trained by the very best from the Heroes Guild. Trained in the ancient disciplines of strength, skill and will. At the height of my strength, I could wield a Master Greatsword in each hand, I could take a thousand arrows to the gut and still live, and I could shrug off blows to the face from Master Greathammers as if they were nothing but bee stings. At the height of my skill, I could stab a man a hundred times before they could draw their weapon, shoot the wings off gnat without killing it, and sneak past my enemies without them ever realizing I laid eyes on them. At the height of my will, I could control the very elements at my finger tips, summon the wrath of the gods or send my enemies souls down to the pits of Hell, slow the very fabric of time to a crawl; all before a bead of sweat traced my skin. As a young man, I killed a Wasp queen, braved the evils of Darkwood, and defeated Twinblade the Giant in single combat. As an adult, I slew the White Balverine that infested Witchwood, defeated all of my enemies in the Arena, I carved my way through the Undead in the Lychfield Graveyard, broke into the most heavily guarded prison in Albion, Bargate Prison and survived a year of its torture. As an old man, I activated the ancient Cullis gate to Hook Coast, defeated my former teacher, Maze the Wizard, defeated Jack of Blades once in single combat, summoned the Ship of the Drowned to the Northern Wastes, and a second time, in his true form, I destroyed Jack of Blades. I have traveled from one end of Albion to the other and always, I have survived. I have done tremendous things that men cannot even fathom."

Alexander's voice grew into a mighty shout towards the heavens.

"_**And I could not save one man!"**_

The shockwave reverberated within Roland's ears as tornado exploded, expelling water, dirt and foliage in all directions, crashing into the ground and into the house. Roland rolled back onto the ground and covered his head with his hands as the wind tore over him like a wave sweeping the earth. Soon, the roaring stopped and there was only silence. Roland peeked through his hands and pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. Looking around, he surveyed the destruction that he had wrought on the once beautiful land.

It looked like something had gone through and turned the ground upside down, leaving only dirt where once there was beautiful green, lush grass. The house had a tree sticking through it, destroying half of it. The pond was empty, save for Alexander, whose veins were growing dimmer, as if his life was draining from him. Roland gulped as he pushed himself back onto his feet.

"Do you know why I could not save him, bard?" Alexander said bitterly. "It was not because I was not fast enough, or strong enough. It is because I did not care to. I did not care to save him from death. I did not care to save him. His life and his death mean nothing to me, who has passed through both doors already."

Roland didn't know what to say. It was all too much for him. So many things were happening before his eyes and he couldn't fathom them all at once. He just didn't understand.

"You're…" Roland gulped. "You're still human. Despite everything that has happened and everything that you've gone through, you're still human. Past all the pomp and heroism, you're still human. What you're feeling is, I guess, a very human response."

"Is it?" Alexander asked quietly. "Heroes were created to protect Albion. We are the soldiers who defend this land from the Shadows of the Void. But we never truly reach our full potential until we die, the experience we have gained in life fueling our defensive walls. When we die, we become truly Archons. I may have been a hero when I lived, but when I died, I became an Archon. And the Archon's duty is written in stone. I have a duty now to protect this world. But now…now I realize that my duty as an Archon conflicts directly with my soul as a Hero. What I feel I must do conflicts with what I know I must do. And I am stuck in the middle."

Silence passed between the two of them. Roland bit his lip and twiddled his fingers around as Alexander simply stared out in front of himself. Finally, Roland spoke.

"I'm not that smart," Roland began. "So, what you just told me…I don't really understand a lot of it. Well, most of it. But it seems to me that you feel that your life doesn't have purpose anymore. Or you feel like you've lost your purpose. Or…maybe you just don't know what your purpose is anymore. This is a different time period for you, after all. It makes sense that, after 500 years, maybe your purpose has changed. In that case, the simplest answer would be to find your purpose again. I mean, you're here, aren't you? It's not your time, it's not your place but you're here regardless. I guess you should make do with what you got, right?"

"Just find my purpose, huh?" Alexander muttered.

"You say that you're conflicted between two extremes," Roland continued. "One is pulling one way and the other is pulling you the other way. I could be wrong but it seems to me that those two extremes aren't your own choices but choices forced upon you. That's what makes you angry. So, I say, don't choose either. Find something that you can choose for yourself. Because, well, a choice that is forced upon you isn't a choice, in my opinion. So, to find your purpose, you have to make the choice that makes most sense to you. Simple as that I guess."

Alexander said nothing for the longest time. Roland gulped and turned away.

"Sorry, I'll leave you alone now," Roland said simply. He quickly rushed to the glowing exit.

"Roland," Alexander called after him. Roland turned around and saw his face in the evening light. He was smiling warmly.

"Thank you." That was all he said. Roland nodded and smiled and walked out of the Demon Door.

When he left, Alexander turned around and walked back towards the house. As he walked, the grass began to grow again, the trees replanted themselves, the flowers bloomed and the water began to refill the pond. As he walked, the land around him began to fix itself, wiping away all evidence of his rage and torment, replacing it with the quiet dignity that once was. Peace returned and erased all signs of frustration.

Alexander sat in front of the fire in the now fixed farmhouse; hand on his chin and covering his mouth. And he sat there, thinking about what purpose he could find now. He sat there until the sun rose over the horizon.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

Hammer sighed as she packed the things she felt she would need, a nightly breeze blowing through her open window. Mostly changes of clothes and so on. She was barely aware of what she was packing, however. Her mind drifted around aimlessly, still reeling from the past events. Her father was dead. She would never see him smile, hear his laughter, feel the warmth in his hand. It was strange to her knowing that someone that has such a huge impact on her life will never be there again. It felt just like a gaping hole had opened up in her life that could not be filled by anything. The only thing she could do was to simply learn to live with it.

She stopped between putting a clean shirt in her pack, holding it still in her hand for a moment. She felt the soft silk of the shirt rubbing between her fingers. Slowly, the shirt slipped out her fingers and fell softly to the wooden ground. She shuddered as a bubble of pure dread and sadness welled up from within her heart. Hannah put a hand to her mouth as tears unwillingly began to form in her eyes, blearing her vision momentarily. Her sobs came in short, controlled bursts as her feelings began to slide up from her heart. Steadying herself, she placed her hand on the bed, trying to keep herself from falling to her knees. She wasn't Hannah any longer. She was Hammer. Hammer is not supposed to fall.

Hammer breathed sharply several times, trying to control her emotions. Slapping her cheeks several times, she began to wipe the tears from her eyes. She couldn't afford this. She needed to stay calm and collected. By morning, she would be leaving this life behind and starting again.

When she left by morning…

It then dawned on her that when she left in the morning, she would be leaving the only home she had ever known. By morning, another hole would be opened. Another familiar presence lost. Just like her father. Gone and, according to this 'Theresa,' she would never return. What did she mean by that?

Sighing, she walked to the open window, brushing the wetness from her eyes. As she stood there, gazing at the moon, she took a deep breath of the Oakfield air. She would probably never breathe it again. She wanted to savor it. To savor the feeling of the air as it kissed against her cheeks. She wanted to savor the feeling of familiarity that resonated with her heart. She doubted she would ever feel anything like it for a long time.

Hammer opened her eyes and they fell to a lone figure walking around the bend out of the forest. Hammer squinted and realized who it was.

"Roland!" Hammer called. She waved her hand, trying to catch his attention. Roland stopped in his tracks and looked around, wondering who was calling his name. Seeing movement, he squinted his eyes.

"Hannah?" Roland called back.

"It's is," Hammer replied. "Where're you off to?"

"The Sandgoose," Roland said. "The people are drinking and…well, they need me to tell tales and sing songs of…happier times."

"You don't have to, you know," Hammer told him.

"I _am_ a bard," Roland said. "It's what we do." Hammer smiled and nodded.

"Where's Alexander?" Hammer asked.

"He's…" Roland hesitated. "He's taking some time to himself. He…he took the death of your father rather hard. He blames himself for…a lot of things, actually.

Hammer blinked in surprise. She didn't know that Alexander was actually blaming himself for…well, anything. It was quite touching for her to know that someone else seemed to care for her father just as she had.

"It seems I'm not alone," Hammer whispered to herself.

"I'm sorry?" Roland called.

"Nothing," Hammer replied. Roland nodded and looked between her and the Sandgoose.

"Why don't you come to the Sandgoose with me?" Roland asked.

"I shouldn't, I…I still have things to pack," Hammer said.

"That can wait, I'm sure," Roland said. "You can come in for a few hours, just to say hello to everyone and then leave. Besides, it looks like you shouldn't be alone right now."

It suddenly occurred to her that tears were running down her face. Embarrassed, Hammer hurriedly brushed her hands across her face, drying her eyes. She took several deep breaths before saying:

"Okay. I'll be down in a minute."

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

The interior of the Sandgoose was the epitome of comfort, with its wooden and firelight-lit interior. When Roland entered, he immediately felt comfortable, which was remarkable given his shy attitude. The level of comfort wasn't as high as when he was inside the demon door, but he could still be comfortable here. As a bard, he was at home with the loud din of patrons and the smell of alcohol.

"It's the bard!" "Play us a song!" "Song!" They all called for his songs and the escape he brought with it. Roland smiled and took out his lute, prepared for a song.

Hammer smiled as she made her way to the bar. The bartender gave her a friendly nod and placed a mug of ale on the counter.

"All drinks for you are on the house, lass," the bartender told her. Hammer smiled warmly and drank deeply. She gazed around the Sandgoose and picked out faces in the crowd. These were the faces of people she had become familiar with. The faces she had grown up with. And soon, she would probably never see them again.

"Now, before I begin," Roland called out to the patrons of the bar and stepped on top of a nearby table. Feeling rather impulsive, he grabbed a nearby mug of ale from a patron and held it up high. "I would like to propose a toast."

There were more cheers as mugs were raised into the air up high.

"As you all know, a man died yesterday," Roland began, suddenly finding a courage he hadn't known he had before. "The Abbot of the Temple of Light. A man who dedicated him life to spreading Light to every dark corner of the world. Now, I can't say I knew him well. I only met him recently. But you all knew him in some way. I'm sure he touched all of your lives in some fashion. And I dare each and every one of you to even try to think of something bad to say about him."

And it was true. Every patron and every citizen of Oakfield had only warm memories of the Abbot. And as Roland spoke, they all remembered the times they shared with the Abbot. They remembered the times they were injured and the Abbot would stay up all night healing them. They remembered how he would help move crates from the harbor to the local shops. They remembered how when their kids were hurt from running the fields, he would smile and patch them. They all remembered his smile, the smile that seemed to light up the room. They remembered the light that surrounded him.

Hammer leaned against the bar, mug in her hand, condensation dripping down to the floor. She stood in awe of what she saw around her. She could see it all on their faces. They were making the same face she knew she had been making hours earlier. The face of something they had lost. And at that moment, she knew that they all had felt a similar void in their souls. Just like her, they all had a void in their hearts. It then occurred to her that a death doesn't only affect the person. It affects the world.

Someone was there one minute. And the next minute, that person was gone from the world forever. That's what death was. And no matter how close or far away they were from the person who died, everyone feels it, even if it's only a fleeting moment.

_I'm such an idiot,_ Hannah thought to herself. _I'm not the only one feeling this way, am I?_ She smiled.

"So!" Roland proclaimed, holding his mug high above him. "Here's to the Abbot! May the light he left behind never go out!"

The tavern cheered and raised their drinks in the air. And with one motion, they drank deeply in remembrance. Hammer smiled and stood up from the bar.

"If I can have a moment!" she called to the crowd, standing tall. Soon, the tavern silenced and all had her undivided attention. She looked at all of them slowly, recognizing every face in the room. "Thank you. Thank you all for all the love and support you have shown me. This time has been very hard. But, you all have made it a little easier."

Everyone in the bar smiled and nodded at her words, understanding them at their heart. Hannah was never a good speaker. She was always more likely to beat you to a pulp than converse with you. But tonight, she let the words flow through her. These came from her heart and from her soul. And now, she needed to be honest.

"But tomorrow morning, I will leave Oakfield," she said simply. The silence was deafening for her, but she kept on going. "I was never a good sister for the temple. I liked fighting too much to be one. And…with my father dead…well, I don't think I can stay here anymore. I'm sorry. I've made my decision."

Silence followed afterwards as her words sunk into the crowd. Hannah didn't know how they would take the news. So she waited for them to speak next.

"About bloody time!" a drunken man roared. Hannah looked up surprised. It was Eric, one of the dockworkers. "Well, don't take it the wrong way, Hannah. We care about you. You've always done right by us. But seriously, we always knew that eventually you'd leave. You don't really have the temperament to be a Sister or a farmer."

"What Eric is trying to say, Hannah," said Louise, Eric's wife. "Is that we've always known that Oakfield was no place for a girl like you. You're too energetic. Too…"

"Volatile," Eric chimed in. Louise smacked him across the back of his head harshly.

"The point is, we all knew that you would leave one day," Louise continued. "You don't cage a bird because you think the way it flies is beautiful."

"There you go spouting your one-liners, again, Louise," called Mary, one who worked at the watermill. "Can't just say what you really want to say. Gotta act all smart and stuff."

"But its true, Mary and you bloody well know it, you stupid hag!" Louise shot back.

"Who're you calling a hag, you fat wench!" Mary shouted back. Soon, their respective husbands had to pull them off each other before they did any real damage to each other. Hannah, on the other hand, stood dumbfounded by all this.

"You mean," Hannah said. "You don't have a problem with me leaving?"

"Why would we?" called David, a woodcutter. "You're a big girl. You can make your own decisions. If you want to leave and travel the world or whatever, we'll support you. Thought you would've known that by now!"

"Just know that if you ever want to come back to Oakfield," Karen, a housewife, said. "You'll always be welcomed. We'll even look after your place for you while you gone, just in case you come back."

Hannah stood there, staring at everyone's smiling and warm faces. Her eyes blurred as tears began to fall from them. She smiled weakly.

"Thank you," Hannah said, lowering her gaze and wiping her eyes. Then she looked up again and proclaimed: "Thank you all for wall you've done for me!"

"Hammer, are you crying!" Roland teased jokingly. His reply was Hammer's mug crashing straight into his face.

"_**I've got something in both my eyes, bard!"**_ Hammer yelled. Roland flew off the table and landed on the ground with a thump. The tavern roared with laughter. Hammer herself was laughing as well.

Coughing as he stood, he wiped the ale and mug shards off his face and chuckled. Then, picking up his lute, he took a deep breath. He then began to play a tune, letting his fingers play through the strings, pouring his heart out. This was his happiness. It was his way of spreading laughter to the world.

The bar began to clap and laugh as the tune picked up speed. Some even began to form words to the tune, allowing them to create a brand new song. It didn't make much sense, what with the amount of alcohol they had consumed, but in the end it didn't have to. They were singing from their hearts so it didn't matter. Hammer joined in the fray, allowing herself to sing along, allowing her heart to be poured out. Despite the sadness, they could still find some happiness within the darkness. And she found it alongside them.

Tonight, no one was alone.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

The morning sun rose over the horizon. On the Rookridge Road, Theresa stood silently; blind to all but the warmth the sun gave as it rose. Time would move on, regardless of those that would wish otherwise.

"Morning, sister," Alexander said quietly as he walked up the hill. As he did, he carried a stone hammer across his shoulders.

"Good morning, brother," Theresa answered. Alexander stood beside Theresa and then sat himself down on the ground. "Have you found your answer?"

"No," Alexander said. "Though I did receive some…unexpected guidance. Still, I could not afford to sit still till I found my answer. So I guess I will have to find it as I fight Lucien."

"I guess you will," Theresa said simply. She stood in silence for a while. Alexander allowed the breeze to brush past his face.

"I have one question, sister," Alexander said. "What is Scythe planning? You said so yourself. He will uphold neutrality. Which means he will not take part in any of this. Yet he wanted to help you beat me to a pulp. If he was neutral, I doubt he would have helped you. Why did he?"

"To tell you the truth, I don't know myself," Theresa shrugged. "I was quite surprised when he agreed to aid me, despite his animosity towards you."

"So he just wanted to kill me for giggles," Alexander sighed. "Brilliant."

"He wasn't being serious when he was fighting you," Theresa said. "You know that. If he was, you would most assuredly be dead."

"Yes, that is what makes me angry," Alexander said. "He does not consider me a threat worth taking seriously. But still, he clearly has an interest in this Lucien affair. Why not just save us the trouble and kill Lucien for us?"

"Scythe has always done things his own way," Theresa said. "I've never been able to see what his plans were. He's hidden from my foresight. But, if I had to guess, he still has some use of Lucien being alive."

"You cannot see what his plans are?" Alexander asked.

"No," Theresa said. "Technically, he no longer travels along the same paths of time that we do. Since time is frozen for him, I guess he can no longer create a future. With no future, I can't see what he might do next."

"He is a corpse after all," Alexander stated.

"Maybe," Theresa said. "In any case, I think he may want Lucien to live for a little while more. He seems interested in Lucien or someone close to him. I can't say for sure."

"He always has acted on his own," Alexander muttered. He gazed down the road and then stood up. "Your Hero of Strength arrives."

As he spoke, Hammer walked up the hill with a bag over one shoulder and Roland hung over her other shoulder. She stood tall and proud, facing the rising sun. As she approached Theresa and Alexander, she dropped Roland on the ground, who groaned.

"Too much to drink last night?" Alexander asked.

"That and two of the serving ladies wouldn't stop having their way with him all night," Hammer said.

"They just wanted more!" Roland wailed. "I thought my manhood would shrivel and fall off! It was horrible!"

"You should be proud, bard!" Alexander exclaimed. "Rolling around in bed with two ladies? No man could dream of anything better!"

"But they wouldn't stop! There was no satisfying them!" Roland complained. "It was just too confusing! Should I pay more attention to one girl or to the other girl? But if I pay too much attention to one the other girl will get angry and hit me? Are all women this crazy? I can't take it anymore!"

Hammer chuckled as she remembered pulling the two women off of the poor bard. Alexander smiled and deftly pulled the stone hammer at his side and held it out for Hammer to hold. Hammer looked at it and recognized it as the hammer she pulled from the statue in the temple room. With determination, she took the hammer with both hands and gripped it tightly.

"Good morning, Hammer," Alexander said simply.

"Good morning, Alexander," Hammer said. "You're not just a wandering mercenary, are you?" Alexander winked but said no more.

"Have you done everything you wanted to?" Theresa asked. Hammer turned and gazed at Oakfield one last time before turning back.

"Let's go find Lucien," Hammer said with determination.

"Then take my hand," Theresa said, holding out her hand. Hammer took it while Alexander took Theresa by the shoulder. Theresa looked over at the weakened Roland and held out her foot. Roland weakly gripped it.

"Can we get some water when we return?" Roland asked.

There was no answer as they disappeared in a flash of light. No living thing saw them leave. However, the evil stone face etched into the rock wall was not a living thing. It had a curved stone beard and long knife-like ears. Its eyes glowed with a menacing white light as it smiled and melted back into the wall of rock.

* * *

Sorry. Sorry.

Didn't mean to take that long. College kept getting in the way. It was pretty hectic this year. Can't promise it won't happen again, but at least you got something to hold you over till next time.

I have not given up on this project. I wouldn't dream of it. It's just that sometimes I just don't feel like writing fanfiction. I want to write something of my own creation, not just borrowing from someone else. But don't you even think for one second that I'll leave this story unfinished. Because I won't. I started it. I'll end it. It's that simple. So you can expect an ending. Maybe when I'm fifty or whatever. (I'm joking. Hopefully.)

Anyways, only thing to note is that Roland sings in Old English in this chapter. If you watch the Extended Cut of The Two Towers, there's a funeral scene. During the funeral, Eówyn sings the same song, though I may have changed some of the words to fit the situation. Translation is below. Alexander also says a line from The Two Towers. I'll leave you to guess who says the line. You'll get a cookie if you guess right.

Also, to Nate-Mihael, the last conversation between Theresa and Alexander was response to a question you asked. Hopefully, I answered it a little bit. Seriously people, if you're confused let me know and I'll clear it up in the following chapters. Your reviews never hinder this work. It only makes it better.

Till next time.

"An evil death has set forth the noble warrior  
A song shall sing sorrowing minstrels  
in Albion that he is no more,  
to his lord dearest and kinsmen most beloved.  
An evil death..."

Be-thou well. Go-thou, Abbot, go-thou.


End file.
